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fat 


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Vk. 


Copy d. 

COPYRIGHT deposit. 

















FIRE MOUNTAIN 


















I 

FIRE MOUNTAIN 

A Thrilling Sea Story 


NORMAN SPRINGER 

J) 

AUTHOR OF “THE BLOOD SHIP” 



NEW YORK 

G. HOWARD WATT 

558 MADISON AVENUE 
1923 






Copyright, 1923, by 
G. HOWARD WATT 



©D1A760791G V 

\ 

Printed, in the United States of America 





IL 'fa--a 42- 


b 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Mission . i 

II. The Weeping Boatswain .... 12 

III. The Happy Hunchback .... 31 

IV. The Black Cruiser.41 

V. Wild Bob Carew.51 

VI. Prisoner .59 

VII. The Mate of the Brig “Coh asset” . 78 

VIII. Around the Cabin Table . 95 

t 

>t. v 

IX. The Mountain in the Smoky Sea . 105 

X. The Whaleman’s Log.110 

XI. The Code.127 

XII. The Passage.160 

XIII. Fire Mountain.190 

XIV. Out of the Fog.196 

XV. In the Lazaret.211 

XVI. Three Gentlemen Converse . . . 240 

XVII. Two Men and a Maid.253 


XVIII. Through the Elephant’s Head . . 266 


V 














Vi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. The Edge of the Abyss.284 

XX. Treasure Cave. 300 

XXI. Decoy. 310 

XXII. Tables Turned.322 

XXIII. Conclusion ........ 332 





FIRE MOUNTAIN 



FIRE MOUNTAIN 


CHAPTER I 

THE MISSION 

I T IS a cruel thing to shut up a young man 
between the four walls of an office, when that 
young man is romantic, heart-hungry, and 
twenty-three. It is especially cruel, when the walls 
are lined with dull tomes of legal lore s^nd adorned 
with pictures of even duller-looking legal lights, as 
were the walls of Josiah Smatt’s office. Blackstone 
is poor fare for heart hunger and adventure lust, 
and hot blood needs other than a law code for a 
safety-valve. 

The window was Martin Blake’s safety-valve. 
For a year, he had been Josiah Smatt’s retainer, 
keeper of the outer office, slave of writs and torts 
and all the musty forms of law. It was a retainer- 
ship that chafed, but he was prostrate before the 
great god, “Job.” His job was clerking for the 
lawyer. 

He hated his job—but he had to eat. So, when 
its savor became very bitter in his throat, he turned 
to the window and feasted his eyes with freedom. 

It was the view that gave him succor. The win¬ 
dow was on the tenth floor, and through it Martin 


2 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


had a magnificent view—the broad sweep of San 
Francisco bay, the purple hills of Marin, the Rock, 
and the opening to the Golden Gate. What more 
could Romance ask? It was a canvas that never 
wore out, and upon it Martin painted bold day 
dreams. 

Many a time, he turned a jaundiced eye to the 
window and straightway commenced a most desir¬ 
able adventure over the blue waters. He went 
voyaging; many a time he went in spirit down to the 
sea with the great steamers and white winged sailing 
vessels that passed his window in endless review. 

On this afternoon Martin had his window open, 
and a breath of Spring tinged fragrantly the atmos¬ 
phere of the law. Out there, the water sparkled, 
reflected the clear blue of the sky, and rippled white 
where the crisp breeze touched it. A tall barque 
had just passed out to the Gate, and Martin stood 
staring through the window at the water she had 
just sailed over, afire with errant thoughts the pic¬ 
ture had kindled. He, Martin Blake, was upon 
that tall barque and he was outward bound for the 
Port of Adventure! 

“Mr. Smatt is in, perhaps?” 

The softly spoken words shattered the Castle in 
Spain. Martin swung about, and found himself 
eying a man who had entered the office and closed 
the door behind him so noiselessly as to be unheard. 
He was an odd figure, though become a familiar one 
to Martin these past few weeks—a Japanese dandy. 
Silk-hatted, frock-coated, and a brown, unwrinkled 
face that spoke of anywhere between thirty and sixty 


THE MISSION 


3 


years. Bright, aslant eyes, and a suave and ever- 
ready smile that broke immediately Martin met 
his gaze. 

“You will be so good as to inform the honorable 
that Dr. Ichi is here?” he asked in precise and 
stilted voice. 

Ever the same—the noiseless entry, the quietly 
spoken request for the lawyer. Martin repressed 
a flash of irritation; the little Japanese, with his 
uncanny soft-footedness and stereotyped address, 
got upon his nerves. However, his orders were 
explicit; Mr. Smatt would see Dr. Ichi without delay 
or preliminary, whenever Dr. Ichi favored the office 
with a visit. It was already the third visit that day, 
but orders were orders. 

So, Martin inclined his head toward the door of 
Smatt’s private office. The Japanese crossed the 
room. He bowed to Martin, as stately a bow as if 
Martin were also an “honorable,” instead of a poor 
devil of a law clerk; then, noiselessly as he had 
entered the outer office, Dr. Ichi disappeared within 
Smatt’s sanctum. 

Martin turned to his window again. But his 
bright day dream was fled, and he could not conjure 
it back again. The view was without charm. His 
thoughts, despite himself, persisted in centering upon 
the dapper little figure now closeted with his 
employer. The dandified Jap aroused Martin’s 
interest. 

What manner of client was this Dr. Ichi ? Martin 
had not seen a single scrap of paper, nor had Smatt 
dropped a single hint, concerning the case. It was 


4 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


mysterious ! Martin was not an overly curious chap, 
but he was human. 

It was another of Smatt’s secret cases, thought 
Martin. Another token of those hidden activities 
of the old vulture, which he sensed, but did not 
know about. For, though Martin attended to the 
routine work, though his duties were responsible— 
Smatt specialized and was prominent in maritime 
law—still Martin knew he did not enjoy his em¬ 
ployer’s complete confidence. 

Much of Smatt’s time was taken up with cases 
Martin knew nothing about, with clients who 
appeared to shun the daylight of the courts. The 
Nippon Trading Company, for instance! Martin 
knew Smatt was interested in a company of that 
name—a strange company, that apparently con¬ 
ducted business without using the mails. And there 
was business between Ichi and Smatt—money, or 
Smatt would have nothing to do with it. The mys¬ 
tery aroused Martin’s dormant curiosity. 

But all his speculation was pointless. Martin 
bethought himself of the marine affidavit lying un¬ 
completed upon his desk. He turned from the win¬ 
dow with the intention of applying himself to that 
task—and he discovered the office to have a second 
visitor. Another unusual figure who possessed the 
penchant for surreptitious entry. He observed the 
fellow in the very act of closing the office door. 

“Say, you! Didn’t you see the sign on the door, 
‘Please Knock’?” exclaimed Martin. “Can’t you 
read English?” 


THE MISSION 


5 


“I’m no knocker, I’m a booster. Besides I don’t 
believe in signs,” was the surprising response. 

The visitor faced about as he spoke, and Martin 
took stock of him. He was a hunchback. He was 
seedily clad in a shiny black suit, but a modish green 
velvet hat, several sizes too small, perched pre¬ 
cariously atop his very large head and gave him an 
oddly rakish appearance. But his face was pleasing 
—a wide grin, a snub nose, a pair of twinkling eyes 
beneath a broad, intelligent forehead. Martin 
immediately commenced to thaw as the other smiled. 

The hunchback carried a book under one arm, a 
formidable appearing volume. With a dexterous 
flirt, he bounced it into his hand and thrust it 
beneath Martin’s very nose. 

“The bargain of the century—cannot afford to 
miss it—wonderful opportunity first time offered,” 
he began in a sing-song. 

Martin stiffened with surprise. Not at the words; 
he was accustomed to book-agents of strange guise. 
But the voice! A rich, throaty tenor with not a 
squeak in it. The man’s discourse was like a song. 

“Cost you nothing. Wonderful Compendium of 
Universal Knowledge—compiled after years of 
labor—faculties of great universities. Cost you 
nothing. Absolutely free.” 

The golden voice sang on. Martin found his 
gaze upon the book, and then upon the hand that 
held the book. That hand! Surely, no book-agent 
ever possessed such a hand—brown-backed, big, and 
muscular, plainly the hand of an outdoors man. 
Where the sleeve fell away from the wrist Martin 


6 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


glimpsed the blue of a tattooed figure. A sailor’s 
hand? 

He raised his eyes to the hunchback’s face, noting 
as he did the great length of arm, and the unnatu¬ 
rally square yet muscular shoulder. And the face! 
A book-agent might be expected to have tanned 
cheeks, his occupation not being a sedentary one. 
But surely, such a bronzed and weather-lined coat¬ 
ing as this man’s face wore was never gained by 
winning past janitors or tramping city streets. 

“Possible to make offer only because of great 
advertising campaign—you reap advantage free of 
charge. Wonderful volume absolutely free. You 
merely subscribe to Coleman’s Weekly —ten cents a 
week, fifty cents a month, price of magazine—won¬ 
derful Compendium of Universal Knowledge—cost 

you absolutely nothing-” 

The hunchback pattered on. Book-agent or no, 
Martin conceded he had the technique of the craft 
at his tongue’s tip. His eyes—suddenly, Martin was 
aware of the peculiar behavior of the other’s eyes. 
The were roving about the office from point to point, 
as if the fellow were endeavoring to fix in his 
mind every feature of the room. But most often, 
Martin noticed, his gaze rested upon the door to 
Smatt’s private office, through which came at inter¬ 
vals the hoarse murmur of Smatt’s voice. Once, 
atop the murmur, came a few words in Dr. Ichi’s 

clipped and even tones- 

“Plan—good—have caution—proceed-’’ 

The hunchback ceased talking. Martin attributed 
his satisfied smile to assurance of a sale; the chap 





THE MISSION 


7 


evidently had confidence in his musical patter. Mar¬ 
tin felt almost sorry as he declined the greatest 
offer of the century. His brain was already over¬ 
burdened, he kindly explained, and he dare not risk 
brain fag by delving into the matchless Compendium. 
Of course, some other day, when finances . . . 

The purveyor of knowledge took the refusal 
easily. Martin had expected him to lose his smile, 
but it grew wider. So Martin braced himself to 
receive the assault of facts and figures he was sure 
was preparing. Instead, however, came a raucous 
command from the other room. 

% 

“Blake, come here!” 

It was characteristic of Josiah Smatt that his 
offices had few of the modern business accoutre¬ 
ments. No conventional stenographer powdered her 
nose and received clients in an ante-room, no tra¬ 
ditional office-boy harried the janitor or played in 
the corner upon a mouth-organ, no call-buzzers 
frazzled the nerves. 

Smatt was a prominent legal light in shipping 
circles, and he was not parsimonious. But he was 
eccentric. He carried his secrets and most of his 
bookkeeping beneath his hat; Martin, his one 
employee, was admitted to only partial confidence. 
And whenever Mr. Smatt wished his clerk to attend 
upon him, he lifted up his voice and bellowed. 

It was this bellow that checked the book agent’s 
flow of words, and startled Martin into activity. 
Mr. Smatt did not like to be kept waiting. 

“Sorry,” Martin said to the hunchback, “but I’m 


8 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


called in there. You’ll have to get out. Couldn’t 
use your book anyway.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” responded the other airily. 
“You will observe I do not depart downcast! It has 
really, sir, helped me a lot, just to visit you—helped 
me a very great deal. You are a pleasant chap !” 

Martin entered the inner office, and he had a 
last glimpse of the queer, deformed little figure, book 
under arm, velvet hat cocked over one ear, in the 
act of negotiating the outer exit. 

Martin, standing docilely before Smatt’s desk, 
discovered himself to be the subject of a searching 
scrutiny from two pairs of eyes. Both Smatt and 
Dr. Ichi, the latter seated at the lawyer’s right 
hand, were critically inspecting the tall, good- 
looking young fellow who faced them. 

Martin was accustomed to the lawyer’s boring 
glances. He returned Smatt’s stare, and experienced 
more keenly than usual his sense of dislike for the 
man. Smatt’s face was in keeping with his voice, 
which was rusty. It was bleak and lantern-jawed, 
with a gash for a mouth, and a great beak of a nose 
that thrust out between two cold gray eyes. He was 
quite bald. An impressive appearing old man, not 
one to inspire affection but fear. One year of service 
had endowed Martin with no sense of loyalty or 
liking for the man. Now, he returned Smatt’s gaze 
with one of indifference, tinged with hostility. 

“Blake, I wish you to execute a mission for me 
tonight,” said Smatt. 

Martin inclined his head in understanding. Exe- 


THE MISSION 


9 


cuting missions at night-time for Mr. Smatt was 
a not uncommon experience. He rather liked these 
confidential errands, though he sometimes doubted 
the good faith of the man who inspired them. They 
took him into strange corners of the city, to inter¬ 
view strange characters. They were the one exciting 
feature of his drab employment. 

The lawyer picked up from his desk a well-stuffed 
and tightly sealed legal-sized envelope. He turned 
to the Japanese, as if for approval or permission, 
and Dr. Ichi, without removing his bright, oblique 
eyes from Martin’s face, inclined his head in agree¬ 
ment with that unspoken communication. The law¬ 
yer faced Martin again, but the latter had the 
feeling that, despite Smatt’s heavy voice and force¬ 
ful personality, it was the silent little Dr. Ichi who 
dominated the situation. 

“You are to deliver this envelope to a man named 
Carew, Captain Robert Carew,” commenced Smatt. 
“At ten o’clock tonight, exactly, you will enter a 
drinking saloon situated on the corner of Green 
Street and the Embarcadero. This resort is known 
as the Black Cruiser Saloon, and is conducted by a 
person named Spulvedo—you will find both names 
on a sign over the entrance.” 

The lawyer looked inquiringly toward Dr. Ichi, 
and the latter nodded confirmation of the instruc¬ 
tion and description. Smatt continued. 

“You will speak with this man, Spulvedo, taking 
care not to be overheard, and you will ask him 
to conduct you to Captain Carew.” 

Martin nodded his understanding as the lawyer 


10 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


paused, and extended his hand for the envelope. It 
was simple. This Carew was evidently lying doggo 
in this water-front saloon. 

“One moment!” said Smatt. “Repeat your in¬ 
structions.” 

Martin obeyed, and, being blessed with a memory, 
he repeated them verbatim. 

“Very good,” said Smatt. “Now, for the rest.” 
He shot a quick glance to Dr. Ichi, and the Japanese 
bowed. “This person, Spulvedo, will lead you into 
Captain Carew’s presence. Under no circumstances 
will you deliver this envelope to other than Carew, 
himself. You may identify him readily by his ap¬ 
pearance. He is a large, blond man, with a deep 
voice. He speaks with an English accent, using the 
words of an educated man. A star is tattooed in 
red upon the back of his right hand.” 

Smatt paused again. Martin, parrot-like, re¬ 
peated the other’s words. Dr. Ichi inclined his head 
in approval. Smatt continued: 

“To make your identification doubly sure, you 
will use this precaution: When you approach Carew 
you will say, ‘I wish to see you on the Hakotdate 
business.’ He will respond, ‘It is time that business 
was settled. Did the Chief send you?’ Then you 
will deliver the envelope to him. Now, repeat in 
full my instructions.” 

Martin complied correctly. Dr. Ichi silently sig¬ 
nified his approval. Smatt handed the sealed en¬ 
velope across the desk, and Martin straightway 
stowed it in his inside coat-pocket. 

“Of course, Blake, you are to mention this matter 


THE MISSION 


11 


to no one,” was the lawyer’s parting injunction as 
Martin withdrew from the room. 

It seemed to Martin, as he reentered the outer 
office, that the room’s air had the indefinable tinge 
of very recent occupancy. When he emerged from 
the private office, he seemed to be treading upon 
some one’s heels, so to speak. He opened the door 
and looked out into the hall, but the hall was empty. 
Then he dismissed the matter from his mincTas a 
fancy. 


CHAPTER II 


THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 



ARTIN lived at Mrs. Meagher's Select 
Board for Select People establishment, 
far out in the western addition. He w^as 
star boarder, and as such made free with Mrs. 
Meagher’s little private parlor. A fire always burned 
there on cool evenings, and moreover, he escaped 
the ragtime that nightly filled the community room 
■where the piano was, the interminable arguments 
anent the European war, and the coy advances of 
the manicure lady. 

In that little room Martin spent his best hours. 
It was there he retreated to read his favorite fiction, 
red-blooded and exciting stories, without exception. 
It was there he lived a life apart, a life in a strange 
and desirable environment. For Martin always 
identified himself with the sprightly hero of the eve¬ 
ning’s tale. He, Martin Blake, suffered, despaired, 
triumphed, and galloped off with the heroine. And 
when the story’s end was reached, he returned to 
the drab reality of his existence with revolt in his 
soul. 

“You worm, you well-fed, white-faced office 
grub!” he told himself. “Why don't you do some¬ 
thing? Why don't you get out of the rut? You 
have no responsibilities; you are foot loose! Then 


12 




THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


13 


why don’t you get out there, where adventure is, 
where things happen!” 

But then would come the rub. Where was u out 
there,” and how reached by a pen-driving clerk? 

After supper, Martin carried his magazine into 
the private parlor and ensconced himself before the 
grate fire. He read a yarn of ships and mutinies 
and treasure trove—hot stuff! 

But there was a fly in the ointment of Martin’s 
content. Of late, his sanctuary was not always in¬ 
violate. On the occasion of the past Christmas, an 
absent and fiendish-minded nephew had presented 
Mrs. Meagher with a phonograph. This instrument 
of torture Mrs. Meagher installed in the little par¬ 
lor, and at frequent intervals she sat herself down 
before it and indulged in a jamboree of musical 
noise. 

But this night Martin hoped for quiet. Mrs. 
Meagher had seemed busily engaged recounting 
rheumatic symptoms to Mary, the cook, and Martin 
knew from bitter experience that the recital usually 
occupied an hour and a half. Then, there was a 
good chance the matron would betake her buxom 
person bedward without visiting the parlor. 

Luck smiled. Martin planned to read until nine 
o’clock before leaving the house to carry out the 
mission of his employer. He had no mind to leave 
sooner, for a keen, April wind ruled outdoors San 
Francisco that night. 

He did read until eight o’clock, and then a rustle 
heralded the approach of the storm and diverted his 
attention from the printed page. Mrs. Meagher 


14 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


sailed into the room, her ample figure clothed in 
her best black silk house gown. Martin’s spirits 
sank to zero—she always donned this funeral drap¬ 
ery before operating the infernal contraption in the 
corner. 

Mrs. Meagher dropped into her rocking-chair and 
groaned tentatively. Martin read desperately. He 
knew r as long as he kept his eyes upon his book she 
was much too considerate to disturb him, and be¬ 
tween phonographic noise and rheumatic reminis¬ 
cence, he chose the former as being escapable. 

The good woman hitched her chair over to the 
machine. Martin writhed in spirit. It was not that 
he was insensible to harmony, even though canned. 
He was quite receptive while a booming basso rang 
the bell in the lighthouse, dingdong. He was even 
stoical w T hen the sextette brayed forth the sorrows 
of Lucia. But the while a dread clutched him. 

Mrs. Meagher had a favorite record. She 
played it regularly, and wept cheerfully at each per¬ 
formance. The piece was anathema to Martin. 

He watched the old lady out of the corners of 
his eyes. She searched her record case and arose 
triumphant. The well-hated, jangling prelude filled 
the room. Martin dropped his book and accom¬ 
plished a swift and silent exit. 

In the hallway, the manicure lady bobbed her 
suspiciously yellow head and smiled provocatively. 
Martin fled to the cloak-rack near the door. Hur¬ 
riedly he donned top-coat and hat. Until he finally 
closed the front door behind him, a tinny wail 
poured out of the little parlor and assailed his ears, 


THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


15 


a reedy soprano declaiming passionately that she 
had raised no son of hers to the profession of 
arms. 

Martin sighed with profound relief as he slammed 
that door. He thus shut behind him such disagree¬ 
able facts as favorite ballads and peroxide blondes. 
It was like shunting a burden off his shoulders. \ 

He stood a moment on the stoop, under the area 
light, drawing on his gloves and regarding the night. 
A night of bright stars, but no moon. A sharp, 
windy night, he shivered even beneath his overcoat, 
but the air tasted good and fresh. The darkness 
charitably covered the respectable ugliness of the 
neighborhood. Under the twinkling street-lamps 
the commonplace street assumed a foreign and even 
romantic air. 

Martin’s spirits mounted. Was he not setting 
forth on an errand of mystery? Why, something 
might happen to a fellow on such a night! 

Something did happen, and at once, though Mar¬ 
tin attached no importance to the event at the time. 
Standing there under the area light, Martin drew 
forth the envelope that was the occasion of his 
errand, to assure himself by evidence of eyesight 
that it was still in existence. He thrust it into the 
inside pocket of his overcoat, as being a safe and 
handy receptacle. As he did so, a suppressed sneeze 
made him aware he was not alone upon the stair¬ 
way. Somebody was on the stoop before the house 
next door. 

Mrs. Meagher’s establishment was housed in the 
half of a three-story structure. All of the houses 


16 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


of the block were thus built in pairs. Only a balus¬ 
trade separated their front steps. 

Now Martin knew the house next door was va¬ 
cant. Even in the darkness, he could discern the 
real estate agent’s sign in the front window. Hence 
his surprise in beholding a man pressing the door¬ 
bell of the empty house—for that, he discerned, 
was what the person who sneezed was doing. 

“For whom are you looking?” called Martin. 
“That house is empty. Don’t you see the sign!” 

Without a word, the man turned and ran lightly 
down the steps, and set off at a smart pace down 
the street. Martin noticed the fellow wore a long 
gray overcoat and cap, and that he seemed remark¬ 
ably light upon his feet. 

“Queer,” thought Martin. “Didn’t seem drunk. 
Maybe a tramp looking for lodgings. Didn’t look 
like a tramp, though.” 

And then, as he set out for the corner and the 
street-car, the incident slipped from his mind. 

No street-car was in sight, and Martin with¬ 
drew to the friendly lee of the House of Feigle- 
baum to await its coming. Here, pressed against 
the window, he was sheltered from the wind that 
swept around the corner. 

The front of the House of Feiglebaum was at 
that hour dark, but a few yards distant a light 
blazed over the entrance to the other and more 
profitable part of Feiglebaum’s business. Johnny 
Feiglebaum was part of an industry indigenous to 
San Francisco—he kept a combination grocery store 
and saloon, the latter a quiet place that was stranger 


THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


17 


to mixed drinks and hilarity. It was sort of a 
neighborhood rendezvous; most of the henpecked 
husbands of the district sought haven there, and 
surcease of care with cribbage and pale beer. 

Martin debated whether or not to enter ^and 
join in a game with one of this subdued brotherhood; 
he had two hours, almost, to spend ere he was due 
at the Black Cruiser. He decided against it as be¬ 
ing too mild a pastime for his mood. He felt lit 
for adventure, this night. 

An extra keen gust of wind swept around the 
corner and invaded Martin’s refuge. He shrank 
back into the dark doorway in search of a warmer 
retreat. He backed against something soft, some¬ 
thing alive. He swung about with words of 
apology on his tongue for the prior occupant of 
the shelter. 

His startled gaze encountered a broad back. A 
man stood there in the far corner of the doorway, 
his back to the street, his head seemingly bowed 
iri his arms. A man of such huge proportions, that 
Martin, but two inches less than six feet, himself, 
felt like a pigmy in comparison. The man’s outline 
was vague and enhanced by the gloom; Martin, 
atingle with the unexpected collision, had the first 
thought it was a preposterous apparition. 

There came a rumble from the giant’s corner. 
It was a noise as surprising as the other’s appear¬ 
ance; it checked Martin’s apology. It was a rumble 
of parts; it seemed to be compounded of a prodigious 
sigh, a strangled sob, and a sneeze. It bespoke 
misery. 


18 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Sick?” asked Martin. 

A groan. Then a series of well-formed sighs* 
Then the giant turned and loomed above Martin, 
snuffling. 

“Ow, swiggle me!” rumbled a deep and husky 
voice. “Ow, I’m in a proper fix, I am. Ow, where 
’as ’e got ’imself to! Ow, why didn’t I die afore 
I was born, says I!” 

“Why, what is the matter? Come, come!” ex¬ 
claimed Martin, aghast at the stricken voice. 

The big man teetered to and fro upon his feet. 
He was perhaps wrestled by sorrow. But Martin 
smelled whisky. 

“Come, brace up!” he admonished. 

“Ow, strike me, I’m in for it, I am!” came the 
plaintive growl. “I’ve gone an’ lost ’im, I ’ave; I’ve 
gone an’ lost Little Billy. Can’t find ’im, can’t find 
’im in the bloomin’ town. I’ve looked in a thousand 
bleedin’ pubs, I ’ave, and I can’t find Little Billy. 
Walked a blister on my foot, I ’ave. Ow, swiggle 
me, what a snorkin’ day I’ve ’ad!” 

The words tumbled forth heavy laden with alco¬ 
hol. Martin could understand there had been a wet 
search. The other groaned and strangled. 

“Ow, swiggle me stiff!” he ejaculated despairingly. 
“What am I goin’ to say to the blessed, bleedin’ 
little mate!” 

“Oh, come now, don’t be down-hearted,” cheered 
Martin. The man and his words fell in with Mar¬ 
tin’s mood. 

Both were unusual—this was better than listening 


THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


19 


to a phonograph’s banal wail, or conversing with a 
giggling manicurist! 

“Cheer up, there are many more than a thousand 
saloons in this city,” assured Martin. “You have 
not yet tried them all. There is one in this build¬ 
ing. Have you visited it?” 

“In this building! A saloon in this building!” 
echoed the other. There was surprise, and much 
less sorrow in his voice. “Ow, swiggle me stiff, 
lad, let’s go ’ave a wet!” 

He placed a hand the size of a ham on Martin’s 
shoulder, lurched out of the doorway and rolled 
down the street toward the entrance to Johnny 
Feiglebaum’s. He had seemed to divine instantly 
this particular saloon’s location. 

Martin accompanied the other willingly; he 
wished to see more of this strange giant. The street¬ 
car he had been awaiting passed by unregarded. 
Martin had the feeling, also, that he would have 
to accept the big man’s invitation, whether or no 
—that huge hand gripped his shoulder like a vise. 
Feiglebaum’s was empty of its usual custom; only 
old Johnny, himself, from his station behind the 
bar, witnessed with scandalized eyes their rather 
tempestuous entrance. 

“Set ’em up for two, matey!” roared Martin’s 
companion, or rather, abductor, as soon as they 
crossed the threshold. 

The little German’s answer was a wail of dis¬ 
may. 

“Ach, Himmel, you here again!” he cried at the 
big man. “Mein Gott! I thought at last you haf 


20 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


gone! Marty, mein poy, why haf you brought him 
back?” 

Martin couldn’t answer this obviously unfair 
question. He was helpless. The vise squeezed his 
shoulder cruelly, and only pride prevented him ex¬ 
claiming in pain. Squirming increased the pressure. 
His captor half led, half dragged him up to the 
bar, and there released him. Martin grunted with 
relief and nursed his misused flesh. 

“I’ll ’ave a pot o’ beer, says I!” rumbled the 
big fellow, slapping his hand upon the wood with 
a force that made the glasses jingle in their racks. 
“And my friend ’ere—why, ’e’ll ’ave a pot o’ beer, 
too, says ’e,” he concluded, interpreting Martin’s 
nod. 

Johnny filled the order with alacrity. He evi¬ 
dently stood in awe of this strange man. But he 
spluttered indignantly as he set the drinks upon the 
bar. 

“Why haf you brought dot man back here?” he 
whispered to Martin reproachfully. “Ach, he is 
der deffil’s own! All der evening he haf been in 
und oudt, und he drink und drink, und talk und 
talk and cry apout his trouble. He haf lost his 
Beely, his Leedle Beely, und he talk like I haf 
stolen him. Schweinhunde! Mein Gott, Marty, I 
would nod steal him—I would nod haf der verdumpf 
dog in der blace!” 

“A dog! A dog! ’Oo says ’e’s a dog?” The 
“schweinhunde” had sharp ears. He pounded the 
bar with his fist, and his voice boomed like distant 
artillery. “ ’E ain’t no dog! Just let me meet the 


THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


21 


bloke what calls Little Billy a dog!” He ignored 
old Johnny, and glared at Martin belligerently. 
“ ’E’s my mate, is Little Billy, and a proper la^i ’e 
is, for all ’e ain’t no bigger nor a Portagee man-o- 
war. A dog! Swiggle me stiff, that’s a square- 
head for you!” 

He ended with a snort. Martin hastened to as¬ 
sure him that without doubt Little Billy was a most 
proper lad. 

The big man received the amends with dignity. 
His warlike attitude forsook him. He drooped over 
his beer and mused darkly. He seemed oppressed 
by the denseness of “squarehead” stupidity; he ap¬ 
peared desolated by the absence of the beloved Little 
Billy. Martin observed two big tears roll out of 
the corners of the other’s eyes, course down the 
sides of his nose and splash into the goblet of beer. 
The man exuded gloom. 

Martin seized his first chance to take stock of 
the fellow. He gathered an impression of size and 
redness. Why, the man must stand six feet and a 
half in his boots! AsonofAnak! And his head— 
no wonder the man had temper. He was afire. A 
red face, a red mustache that bristled, a thatch of 
brick-red hair that protruded from beneath a blue, 
peaked cap. His suit was of pilot cloth, and he 
wore a guernsey. He was unmistakably a sailor— 
both words and appearance bespoke the seaman. 
Martin was surprised to encounter such a specimen 
in this remote section of the city, miles distant from 
the waterfront. 

The despondent one aroused himself. His moon- 


22 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


ing gaze appeared to encounter the glass of beer 
for the first time. He swept the goblet to his lips 
and drained it at a gulp. He seemed cheered and 
refreshed. 

“Fill ’em up again,” he rumbled at Johnny. “And 
set one afore my friend, ’ere,” he added, with a 
wide sweep of arm toward Martin. 

Martin was interested. He grasped the oppor¬ 
tunity to re-open the conversation. 

“Too bad you lost him,” he ventured diplomat¬ 
ically. “But it is probable he will turn up all right* 
isn’t it?” 

The big man nodded gloomily. 

“Ow, yes, ’e’ll turn up all right tomorrow. Safe 
and sound, ’e’ll sleep tonight—bleedin’ safe and 
sound. ’E’ll be in jail. That’s the kind o’ sport 
Little Billy is—can’t ’ave a nice quiet time like me. 
In jail, ’e’ll be. Ow, swiggle me, I’m in a proper 
fix!” 

“Why, things are not so bad,” said Martin. “If 
you know where he will be in the morning, you can 
bail him out.” 

“In the morning! Bail ’im out!” exclaimed the 
other. “We can’t wait till no morning! We got 
to be aboard tonight, we ’ave! Ow, Lord, what’ll 
I say to the blessed mate?” 

“Oh, I see, you must return to your ship tonight,” 
commented Martin. He was pleased with himself 
for having judged the man a sailor from the start. 

The sailor nodded his head lugubriously. Two 
more tears tumbled his nose’s length. Martin felt 


THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


23 


like laughing. It was ludicrous to connect tears and 
this huge husky with the fierce voice. x 

The man of the sea resumed his plaint. 

“What’ll I say to the mate? What’ll the mate 
say to me? Aye, that’s it, what’ll the blessed, 
bleedin’ little mate say to me? Swiggle me stiff, I’ll 
be keelhauled—that’s what’ll ’appen to me! And it 
all begun so innercent, too!” 

Martin murmured condolences. 

“Come ashore on account of it being the mate’s 
birthday,” confided the other. “ ’Ad to sneak 
ashore—come this morning. Wanted to get a birth¬ 
day present, we did. Swiggle me, could anything 
’ave begun more innercent!” 

“Oh, a birthday present! You must like your 
officers,” prompted Martin. 

“Like! Like! Why, strike me, lad, we love the 
little mate! Ain’t anybody on the ’Appy Ship as 
don’t love the mate, from the Old Man down.” 

“Happy Ship?” said Martin, struck by the words’ 
connotation. “Is that the name of your vessel?” 

“What we call ’er,” the sailor answered. “ ’Er 
name is Cohasset —brig Cohasset. I’m bosun, and 
Little Billy, ’e’s steward, and a prime steward ’e 
is.” 

The bosun of the brig Cohasset paused and spat 
stringily. 

Martin feared the font of his speech was dried 
up, and he hurriedly bade Johnny replenish the 
glasses. The bosun acknowledged the office with 
a lordly gesture. Then his grief overwhelmed him, 


24 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


and he bowed his head over his glass and sniffed 
audibly. He cultivated restrospection. 

“I ’ad ’im all right at the Ferry Building,” he 
told Martin tearfully. “I ’ad Little Billy right 
enough, there.” 

He spoke as if he had Little Billy safely tucked 
under an arm at the Ferry Building. He inspected 
Martin suspiciously, as if Martin might have the 
missing steward concealed somewhere about his 
person. 

“We was walking up Market Street,” he contin¬ 
ued, “sober as judges, both. And Billy says a bokay 
was what we wanted for the little mate’s birthday. 
Fine, says I. A bokay of lilies, says ’e, because 
lilies means purity. No, says I, they got to be roses, 
roses meanin’ beauty. And so we stops into a place 
or two to talk it over. Swiggle me stiff, could any¬ 
thing ’ave begun more innercent? Just going to buy 
a bokay, that’s what! And now-” 

The bosun sighed. He was crushed by the fell 
consequences of a virtuous intent. 

“Ow, swiggle me, lad, what’ll I say to the 
bloomin’ little mate, as trusted me so?” Tears came 
again to the bosun’s eyes. “The little mate is goin’ 
to feel terrible hurt—us sneaking ashore and all,” 
he concluded miserably. “Ow, swiggle me, fill ’em 
up again!” 

Martin gulped over his glass. He was astonished. 
His cherished and carefully nurtured conception of 
the iron-souled men of the sea was receiving knocks. 
Here was a sailor, a man with all the ear-marks of a 
pugilistic temperament, who wept because the tender 



THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


25 


feelings of the mate might have been bruised, tie 
vowed he loved the mate, he and his shipmates! 
What a queer mate, thought Martin. 

Martin knew all about mates. An ardent perusal 
of the literature of the sea, from Captain Marryatt 
to Captain Kettle, had familiarized him with their 
character. They were an iron-fisted, brazen-voiced 
race, who swanked and swaggered about the decks 
and knocked the sailormen galley-west. 

The self-reliant and rather disdainful demeanor 
of the master-mariners who occasionally visited 
Smatt’s office had confirmed this estimate—they had 
once been mates. Had the boatswain mentioned a 
fear of being met on his return to his ship, with a 
flailing capstan-bar, or a dish of belaying-pin soup, 
Martin would have understood. Mates were hasty 
men. He could have properly sympathized with the 
boatswain over such a prospective fate. He could 
have given him legal advice as to his rights. But 
this mate of the brig Cohasset; this mate who com¬ 
manded nosegays on natal occasions; this mate who 
inspired love, and brought bibulous tears to the eyes 
of this toping giant! 

But another surprise was coming to Martin, one 
that touched him intimately. The boatswain 
slouched over the bar, deep descended into the slough 
of despond. Martin wished to renew the interesting 
conversation, but hesitated how to begin. Funny 
chap, this sailor, rather soft and chicken-hearted. 

The boatswain muttered to himself. He was evi¬ 
dently delving into the clouded realm of memory. 
Martin caught disconnected words: 


26 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Milly—so innercent. Swiggle me—brown 
devils-” 

Suddenly the boatswain straightened up and ex¬ 
ploded a tremendous oath. 

“It was them blighted brown devils!” he swore. 
“What chance ’as a poor ’unchback against them 
blasted Japs? They get ’im in ’Onolulu, and, 
swiggle me stiff, they get ’im in ’Frisco. It was that 
blasted shark, Ichi! It was Ichi, says I, as took 
Little Billy!” 

The boatswain thumped the bar. He was a man 
who sees a light and likes it not. 

Japanese! Hunchback! Ichi! Martin seemed 
to see a light, also, a dim, uncertain light. Perhaps 
it was the association of words—Japanese, hunch, 
back, Ichi. 

Martin suddenly recalled the hunchback book 
agent of the afternoon. In his mind’s eye, he be¬ 
held the quaint figure standing before him in Smatt’s 
office, while Smatt and Dr. Ichi held conference be¬ 
hind closed doors. But it seemed preposterous to 
identify that friendly, glib little deformed man as 
the missing Little Billy, as the bosom friend of this 
lachrymose viking. And what could this rough sea¬ 
man know of the exquisite Dr. Ichi? 

The boatswain ceased his vituperation of the Nip¬ 
ponese Empire, and the men thereof, through sheer 
lack of breath. Martin grasped the opportunity. 

“Say, what does Little Billy look like?” he 
queried. “Did you say he was a hunchback? How 
was he dressed?” 

“ ’E had on his go-ashore togs,” said the bosun. 



THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


27 


“ ’E’s a proper toff, is Little Billy, when ’e’s dressed 
up. Yes, ’e’s a ’unchback, but you don’t notice ’is 
’ump after you know ’im. ’E’s a lot straighter than 
some without a ’ump—’e’s a white man, is Little 
Billy. And ’e’s a proper toff—Vs eddicated. Swig- 
gle me, ’ow ’e can chew the rag! And sing! Sings 
like a blessed angel!” 

“Did he wear a black suit and a green velvet 
hat?” asked Martin. 

“Yes, ’e did,” answered the boatswain excitedly. 
“ ’Ave you seen him?” 

“Yes, this afternoon,” laughed Martin. “You 
need not worry about your Little Billy. Neither the 
police nor the Japs have captured him. He is im¬ 
proving his chance to pursue the avocation of book 
salesman.” 

Martin recounted his meeting with the purveyor 
of universal knowledge. The boatswain listened 
silently and his red-shot eyes glinted suspiciously. 
It seemed to Martin he was not so drunk as a mo¬ 
ment since. 

“But, say,” finished Martin, “who is this Ichi 
you mentioned? Do you know Dr. Ichi?” 

“Do I know Dr. Ichi?” echoed the boatswain. 
“Do I know-” 

He glowered at Martin. The query seemed to 
inflame his temper. 

“Do you know Ichi? Hey? Say, do you know 
Ichi? That’s what I want to know!” His manner 
became threatening. “Why, swiggle me stiff, you 
must be one o’ them, yourself!” 



28 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

t 

Assault seemed imminent. Martin backed hur¬ 
riedly away. 

“No, no, you are quite mistaken,” he assured the 
boatswain. “You may be sure I am not one of them, 
whoever they are. I am your friend.” 

The boatswain subsided growlingly. He was 
plainly suspicious—of what, Martin could not guess. 
But it was evident that any mention of the name of 
Ichi peppered his temper. 

If Martin had been a cautious young man he 
would have let well enough alone. The boatswain 
seemed a hasty and a heavy-fisted man. But Martin’s 
interest was more than piqued. Here seemed a 
chance to learn something about that mysterious 
Japanese. This sailor appeared to know him. Some 
light might even be thrown upon his errand to the 
Black Cruiser. The papers in his inside pocket op¬ 
pressed him with their secret. 

“Perhaps Little Billy is down on the waterfront,” 
he remarked casually. “He mentioned to me that 
he was going to look up a friend on the Embarca- 
dero—a fellow named Carew. Do you know Cap¬ 
tain Carew? At a place called the Black Cruiser?” 

The boatswain received the remark in a most 
disconcerting manner. He stiffened and stared at 
Martin, mouth agape, for an appreciable instant. 
He seemed breathless. The semi-paralysis of 
drunkenness seemed to flee his face. 

“Carew! Did you say Carew?” he at last ex¬ 
claimed. “Strike me, ’e says Carew!” 

It seemed that the boatswain had received some 
momentous morsel of information difficult to digest. 



THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN 


29 


Suddenly he smote the bar with his clenched fist. 
“Carew—‘Wild Bob’ Carew!” he cried. “And Wild 
Bob Carew takes a ’and in this!” 

This was progressing! 

“Oh, so you know Captain Carew?” prompted 
Martin. 

The boatswain turned. He regarded Martin 
strangely. His face was set and stern. He seemed 
a man for whom the moment of badinage is past 
and the moment of action is come. 

“You talk of Ichi, and then you talk of Wild Bob 
Carew!” he said to Martin. “Swiggle me stiff, 
young man, you are one o’ them!” 

His great hands reached toward Martin. There 
was annihilation in his eye. His attitude was a sud¬ 
den and complete declaration of war. 

Martin did not await that onslaught. He started 
for the door. Fortune favored him—uncounted po¬ 
tations, perhaps, had rendered the boatswain a bit 
unsteady on his pins, and, as he left the support of 
the bar rail and lurched for his victim, he lost his 
balance. He sat down on the floor with a crash that 
shook the building. 

The boatswain swore, Johnny Feiglebaum emitted 
a wail as three glasses bounced off their rack, and 
Martin kept on going. As he passed through the 
door, the boatswain was scrambling agilely to his 
feet. Martin was a young man in a hurry. 

He sprinted for, and boarded a passing street-car, 
just as the boatswain reached the curb. He paid his 
fare, passed inside the car, and sank thankfully into 
a seat. He was aglow with his adventure. Some- 


so 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


thing to remember, that affair with the weeping boat¬ 
swain! But what was the fellow so sudden about? 

Thus did Martin consign the boatswain to the 
limbo of memory. He was inside the street-car, so 
he did not see the automobile, driven by a figure 
in a gray overcoat and cap, that drew up at the curb 
beside the boatswain. Nor did he observe that 
automobile’s consequent strange behavior in per¬ 
sistently keeping half a block behind the slowly mov¬ 
ing street-car the whole distance to the waterfront. 


CHAPTER III 


THE HAPPY HUNCHBACK 

T HE clock on the tower of the ferry building 
showed fifteen minutes past nine when Mar¬ 
tin dropped off the car at the foot of Market 
Street. He paused a moment on the corner, enjoy¬ 
ing the never-ending bustle about the city’s gateway. 
He had plenty of time—Green Street and the Black 
Cruiser, was but a quarter hour’s leisurely walk 
distant, and it was then forty-five minutes till ten 
o’clock. He turned and walked slowly northward 
along the Embarcadero. 

The wide street was swept by a keen wind, and 
Martin found the night even rawer than he had an¬ 
ticipated. But overcoated, he was protected, and the 
walk was anything but lonely and uninteresting. To 
his lively mind, this night stroll along the famous 
East Street was a fitting complement to his strange 
encounter with the red boatswain of the brig 
Cohasset, a fitting prelude to the secret business he 
was engaged upon. 

The very breath of the street was invigorating 
—the salt tang of the breeze, the pungent, mingled 
smell of tar and cordage from the ship chandleries, 
the taste of the Orient from the great warehouses, 
even the gross smells of the grog-shops, and it set 
Martin’s blood a-coursing. It conjured visions of 
tall ships, wide seas, far ports. 

31 


32 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Across the way, at the wharves, great steamers 
were disgorging. The rattle of their winches filled 
the air. On his side of the street, the sidewalk was 
thronged with stevedores, stokers, sailors, what not. 
Each of the innumerable saloons he passed pos¬ 
sessed its wassail group, and rough dittiesJ)oomed 
out through swinging doors. Great loaded trucks 
rumbled by. It was a world that worked and played 
both night and day. 

But as Martin continued northward, the street’s 
character changed. The kens and cheap eating- 
places gave way for the most part to the warehouses 
—great brick and concrete fortresses that turned a 
blank dark face to the night. 

Pedestrians became few, mainly straggling seamen 
bound for their ships. Across the way, the steamers 
at the wharves were smaller, and here and there 
loomed the spars of a sailing vessel, a delicate 
tracery upon the blue-black starlit sky. 

Martin speculated upon these last. The intricate, 
woofed masses of wood and cordage captured his 
fancy. He wondered if by any chance the boat¬ 
swain’s ship was over there. He wondered what 
the brig Cohasset was like. He wondered what the 
“blessed little mate” was like. He visioned that 
surprising person who had such influence over rough 
boatswains—a prim little man with mutton chop 
whiskers, he decided. Yes, the ‘blessed little mate’ 
of the brig Cohasset would be a little, white- 
crowned, bewhiskered old gentleman, perhaps some¬ 
what senile and decrepit. It w r as inherent respect 
for old age that inspired the boatswain’s affection. 


33 


THE HAPPY HUNCHBACK 

So musing, Martin came to a by-street that di¬ 
vided two warehouses. He crossed the alleys, but 
lingered on the far curb. 

The alley was dark, but he noticed some distance 
down it the outline of an automobile standing with 
its lights hooded. He had a passing wonder at the 
presence of an apparently deserted machine in such 
a location, but it was a subconscious interest. 

The next street, he knew, was Green Street. Those 
lights that shone on the next corner must mark his 
destination, the Black Cruiser saloon. He pulled 
out his watch; still five and twenty moments before 
ten o’clock. 

As he stood there under a dim street light con¬ 
sulting his timepiece, there came to his ears out of 
the darkness just ahead, a voice, a rich and throaty 
tenor, singing softly. The sweet sounds pierced his 
preoccupation. He looked, and some thirty or forty 
paces distant perceived a gnome-like figure perched 
atop a fire hydrant, at the edge of the sidewalk. 

The figure was little better than a grotesque 
shadow in the gloom, but there was no need of light 
to give definite shape. That pure, musical voice once 
heard was not easily forgotten. Martin knew the 
missing steward of the brig Cohasset was there be¬ 
fore him. 

The voice rose and fell in a careless carol, an 
ancient, lilting, deep sea chantey. 

A roving, a roving, 

Since roving’s been my ru-u-in, 

HI go no more a roving, 

With Thee, Fair Maid. 


34 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Martin stood entranced. The songster adven¬ 
tured on with the “Amsterdam Maid,” another 
stanza and chorus. The soft bell-like tones, the 
salty words, the air, like all the chanteys, both sad 
and reckless, caressed Martin’s ears like a siren 
charm. The boatswain’s words, “ ’E sings like a 
blessed angel,” crossed his mind. Rather, a blessed 
merman! To Martin, greedy for the oceans and 
beyond, the ditty seemed the very whisper of bright 
and beckoning distance—a whisper of tropic seas, of 
spice-scented nights, of blue isles. It heaped fuel 
on his sea-lust. His heels itched. 

The song ended and was followed by a chuckle, 
a care-free clucking of subdued mirth. The singer 
was evidently in a jovial mood. A few softly spoken, 
laughter-tinged words reached Martin. 

“The audience is requested to kindly move for¬ 
ward. No extra charge for box seats. Front row 
reserved for bald heads. Next show starts right 
away. Especially staged for young gentlemen of 
the law.” 

Martin came to himself with a start. The words 
were addressed to him. He was the sole audience 
in sight. And the facetious hunchback evidently 
recognized him, remembered him and the fact of 
his employment in a law office. Martin was standing 
beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, but Little 
Billy must have very sharp eyes to recognize fea¬ 
tures in that half-light. 

Martin moved forward promptly. First the 
weeping boatswain, now the happy hunchback. It 



THE HAPPY HUNCHBACK 


35 


was a night of odd meetings! But Little Billy 
seemed not so downcast as the bosun. 

“Ah, ha, my amiable acquaintance of the after¬ 
noon walks abroad!” chuckled the voice, as Martin 
came to a halt beside the hydrant. “Is it thus he 
cools a brow fevered of too much Trent and Black- 
stone?” 

“Well, it is a good night for such a cooling,” was 
Martin’s good-natured retort. 

“True,” admitted the other. “And other things 
than the law fever the head—heavy ordnance of 
cruisers of accursed blackness, the fatal rum and 
gum, the devious workings of the Oriental mind, the 
slithering about of fat and greasy varlets. Yes, 
many things fever the brow, and ’tis a good night 
for a cooling. As witness!” 

Martin stared at the other. No reek of alcohol 
met his nostrils, as with the boatswain, but, none 
the less Little Billy’s cryptic jargon confirmed his 
suspicions. Also drunk, he reflected. The revered 
and gentle old mate of the brig Coliasset would 
have cause for grief when his two prodigals came 
roistering home. 

Martin could not make out Little Billy’s features 
very distinctly; the hydrant was beyond the street 
lamp’s circle. But the hunchback’s body was plain 
enough—the queer body squatted upon the hydrant, 
legs dangling, the ridiculous velvet hat rakishly 
aslant the large head. The hunchback’s eyes were 
bright and alive. 

“I can well believe your mind is care-ridden,” 
bandied Martin, falling in with the other’s mood. 


36 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“It must be a wearisome and thankless task to scat¬ 
ter universal knowledge amidst the brainless. Have 
you still got your book? That thing you tried to 
sell to me?” 

“Alas, I must confess I have it not,!’ was the 
blithe response. “I ditched it, sir. It oppressed me 
to bear about such a store of wisdom. The marvel 
of the ages, the compendium of universal knowledge, 
reposes in the dust-bin. Mayhap some aspiring 
dust-man, in whose mind smolders untaught genius, 
will chance upon it. It may prepare some dim soul 
for future brilliancy—the arts the crafts, the sci¬ 
ences, are all contained in that wonderful volume. 
Who knows, out of that black dust-bin may rise a 
radiant glow of light. The janitor, the collector 
of garbage, the industrious people who rake over 
the dumps—there are many chances of the right 
hands grasping that printed jewel. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear. 

“ ’Tis a pleasant thought, my legal friend. Ah, I 
am happy in contemplation. I may not have lived 
in vain.” 

Martin grinned. 

“You certainly are an optimist,” he said. “But 
why did you cast such a wonderful gem aside?” 

“Alas, the grossness of the commercial classes, the 
brutality of the tired business man! We Americans 
are a rude folk my friend; the courtesies are absent 
from our manners. Now, I am a young man with 
tender feelings, both mental and—er, physical. And 


THE HAPPY HUNCHBACK 


37 


these trousers I wear have already rendered long 
and faithful service; they have arrived at the stage 
where they require, let us say, humoring. The oft 
repeated impact of a number ten boot upon such 
delicate fabric could have naught but dire results. 
I discarded the book, sir, and resigned my member¬ 
ship in the peripatetic brotherhood, to avert a catas¬ 
trophe. Both cloth and nerves were frayed. I 
am a cheerful youth, but sensitive, and I require con¬ 
siderate treatment to be happy. Ah, you are laugh¬ 
ing! Never mind, I like people who laugh—like 
great Caesar, I would have them about me.” 

“Pardon me,” gulped Martin. “I was just think¬ 
ing how aptly the bosun described you. 1 ’Ow ’e can 
chew the rag!’ he said. And you can.” 

“The bosun!” exclaimed the other. “Did I under¬ 
stand you to say ‘the bosun’ ? Can it be you have 
met my heart’s chum, my dear bosun?” 

“You bet I did!” replied Martin emphatically. 
“And I was lucky to end the encounter with a whole 
skin. Hasty man, your dear bosun!” 

“ ’Tis true,” admitted Little Billy. “He requires 
coddling, does my bosun. Red hair always does. My 
bosun has a tender heart, and he is a creature of 
impulse. Beneath that rough exterior surges the 
artistic temperament. But tell me, was the bosun, 
by any chance, inquiring for one Little Billy?” 

“He was,” said Martin. “Not only inquiring for 
Little Billy, but weeping for him, fighting for him 
—and for the larcerated feelings of the dear mate 
of the brig Cohasset. Of course, I know you are 
Little Billy.” 


38 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Your perspicacity is remarkable,” said Little 
Billy. “I am discovered. But your news is dis¬ 
turbing. Tears and temper are pregnant signs with 
my redheaded friend. You did not, by any chance, 
meet him in the city Bastile?” 

Martin sketched for the other the scene at Johnny 
Feiglebaum’s. 

“But the bosun had the same misgivings of the 
police on your account,” he finished. 

“He stated positively you would sleep this night 
in jail. He gave you a turbulent character.” 

“Base libel,” asserted Little Billy. “Bosun has 
imagination, but it functions within narrow limits. 
He is solely a son of experience. His idea of a 
pleasant and well spent evening ashore, is to intro¬ 
duce into the physical system an indefinite amount 
of variously tinted alcohol, and then to try a brave 
whirl of fisticuffs with the scorned minions of the 
law. To his understanding there is no other way 
of spending a holiday. Hence his solicitude for 
Little Billy. Of course, thinks he, Little Billy is off 
alone a-roistering. Why else should he have given 
his bosun the slip?” 

“Did you give him the slip?” said Martin. “He 
thinks he mislaid you—that is a point in his distress. 
Did you run away from him to frecome a book 
agent?” 

“You do not understand,” stated the hunchback 
with dignity. “It was but a manifestation of the 
wanderlust, at once the curse and the blessing of my 
misshapen existence. Behold in me, sir, the rover, 
the argonaut, the adventurer!” 


THE HAPPY HUNCHBACK 


39 


He straightened his slouched figure upon its slip¬ 
pery seat and attempted to strike an oratorical pos¬ 
ture. He lost his balance and lurched sidewise to¬ 
wards Martin. He grasped Martin’s overcoat. 

Martin good-naturedly put an arm around the 
other to steady him. Little Billy, he guessed, was 
rendered dizzy by that rum and gum he had darkly 
hinted at. The hunchback teetered and clung to 
Martin’s overcoat. Not for an instant did his 
tongue cease wagging. 

“I am an explorer of strange lands, strange men, 
strange pursuits,” he told Martin. “Behold in me 
a rollicking blade of the sea; one who has matched 
wits with all races, all colors, and sometimes, alas, 
come off second best; one who has followed many 
occupations. A sailor—yes. A book agent—yes. 
Also, sir, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. 
A wooz, a wizard, a king of legerdemain. Student, 
actor— But why continue?” 

He had regained his balance upon his precarious 
seat by this time, and he finished with a fine, sweep¬ 
ing gesture: 

“In this crippled carcass doth abide a vagabond 
spirit whose wanderlust has no purely geographical 
basis. I wander the wide world over, yes! Also, I 
wander in and out of men’s lives, in and out of men’s 
affairs. To wander—’tis my excuse for living. A 
fascinating obsession, sir!” 

Martin was charmed. Never had he encountered 
such a flow of words, such musical eloquence. What 
a lawyer this chap would make! But Martin was 
also oppressed by his consciousness of the flight of 


40 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


time. He wanted to linger with his quaint com¬ 
panion ; but the time ! 

He reached for his watch and noted that Little 
Billy’s clutch had opened his overcoat. He struck 
a match and discovered it was four minutes to ten 
—four minutes to reach the next corner. He could 
make it in two, still it was time he was moving. 

“I must leave you,” he said to Little Billy. “I’ve 
an errand to that saloon on the corner. Wait for 
me; I’ll be back this way in a few moments, and 
we’ll go get a bite together.” 

“Would that I could,” said Little Billy. “But I, 
too, must depart. My ship awaits.” 

“Well, then, so long,” said Martin. “You know 
where I work, Little Billy, look me up sometime. 
Be glad to see you. I won’t forget this meeting.” 

“Good-by. No, you’ll not forget this meeting,” 
responded the hunchback. He slipped down from 
his perch and shook hands. “No,” he repeated, 
“you’ll remember me all right.” 

Martin strode for the corner, and the Black 
Cruiser. Little Billy ambled across the street to¬ 
wards the dark wharves, and as he v/ent he whistled 
blithely. 

The street was empty. Martin passed but one 
living being during the rest of his journey. This 
was a figure in a gray greatcoat and cap, who 
lounged against a telegraph pole across the street 
from Martin’s destination. The gray figure stared 
steadily towards the wharves; Martin passed it by 
almost without notice. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BLACK CRUISER 

M ARTIN was disappointed. The Black 
Cruiser—delectable name, of which he had 
expected much—was, it appeared, housed in 
a commonplace and very ugly two-story wooden 
building, a building with many dark and shuttered 
windows on the upper floor. 

From where he stood upon the corner, Martin 
could see that the building was of considerable depth, 
and that the saloon appeared to occupy only the 
front downstairs portion. The upstairs, with its 
many shuttered windows, had the aspect of a de¬ 
serted rooming-house. Just before him, over the 
closed door to the saloon, was the inscription Smatt 
had spoken of, in plain black letters, “Black Cruiser 
Saloon, Diego Spulvedo, Prop.” It was a sordid 
and unprepossessing exterior; Martin felt that the 
Black Cruiser would prove the anti-climax to his eve¬ 
ning’s adventures. 

The second-hand of his watch climbed toward the 
hour. He knew old Smatt’s passion for exact punc¬ 
tuality; not a second before the appointed time must 
he enter the place. The hand touched the required 
point. Martin felt of the paper in his pocket and 
opened the door. 

He stepped into a low-ceilinged bare and dingy 



42 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


room. The place reeked of stale drink. A bat¬ 
tered bar filled one side, and before ft stood five men 
in a row, attended upon by a heavily paunched and 
aproned fellow. Martin accosted this last, as he 
approached the bar. 

“Mr. Spulvedo?” asked Martin. “I wish to see 
Mr. Spulvedo.” 

The aproned man regarded him with a stare from 
heavy lidded and nearly closed eyes. He had a 
swarthy, greasy, fat face, this officer of the Black 
Cruiser, and moist, thick lips. Martin recalled 
Little Billy’s reminiscence concerning the “slithering 
about of fat and greasy varlets.” Was this the 
varlet? The name fitted. 

“Spulvedo!” repeated Martin. “Are you Mr. 
Spulvedo ?” 

“Yais,” drawled the man. 

Martin dropped his voice to a whisper. 

“I would like to speak with you alone,” he com¬ 
menced. 

He shot a glance out of the corners of his eyes 
toward the five patrons. Smatt had said to take 
care not to be overheard. He caught his breath 
with surprise. The glance revealed five stolid, yel¬ 
low-brown faces turned toward him, five pairs of 
black, oblique-set eyes regarding him intently. Five 
Japanese! They were interested in him, there was 
the thrill. Martin sensed some connection between 
himself and the five. That envelope in his inner 
pocket! 

“You weesh to speak weeth me, yais?” 

The drawling voice compelled his attention. 


THE BLACK CRUISER 


43 


“Yes—alone,” said Martin. 

Spulvedo nodded. He turned and waddled fatly 
around the farther end of the bar, and Martin re^ 
joined him at the other end of the room. 

“You are the messenger we expect, yais?” purred 
Spulvedo. 

“I wish to see Captain Carew,” stated Martin. 
“I was told to see you and ask for him; told you 
would conduct me to him. Is he here?” 

“Yais, you see heem,” answered Spulvedo. 

He turned to a door in the wall behind him and 
unlocked it. He opened it a crack and held whis¬ 
pered parley with some one within. Then he burned 
to Martin. 

“Thees way—come!” he bade. 

Martin brushed through the door, opened just 
wide enough to admit his body. He expected the 
greasy saloonkeeper to follow, but instead that 
worthy slammed the door upon him and turned the 
lock. Martin was left alone in pitch darkness. 

He stood still, nonplused by that cavalier deser¬ 
tion and disturbed by the darkness. He stretched 
out both arms and touched two walls. He was in 
a hallway. Alone? The air about him seemed to 
be filled with rustlings. He fancied he heard 
breathing. He took a tentative step forward, arm 
outstretched. A cold, clammy hand grasped his 
wrist and drew from him a startled yelp. 

“Have no afraid,” soothed a soft voice. “I make 
show he way to he hon’ble.” 

There was, it seemed, more than one fashion 
in spoken English at the Sign of the Black Cruiser; 


44 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


this fellow did not talk like Spulvedo. Martin’s 
eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and 
he made out the vague outlines of a short figure be¬ 
fore him. The figure moved, and the clutch on his 
wrist urged him to follow. 

They moved forward some twenty paces, passed 
through a door, and encountered a stairway leading 
upstairs at right angles to the passage they had just 
traversed. It was not so dark here; a gas light 
burned somewhere in the hall upstairs, and a moiety 
of its glow found its way below. 

His conductor released his wrist, and commenced 
to ascend the stairs. Martin, as he started to fol¬ 
low, noticed there w T as a second door at the foot 
of the stairs. He guessed it let upon the street. 

They gained the upstairs landing and paused. 
Martin saw before him a long hall with at least 
a dozen doors opening upon it. A gas light burned 
at the farther end. As he had suspected from with¬ 
out, this place was, or had been, a cheap lodging- 
house. Nothing save that light seemed to speak of 
occupancy now. 

Martin took his first good look at his guide. He 
was, as he had noted on the stairs, a Japanese; a 
chunky little man with an apologetic manner, and 
a muscular and bow-legged figure. If he had been 
a white man, Martin would have listed him a sailor. 

The Japanese smiled. His teeth flashed start¬ 
lingly white in his dark face. 

“He, hon’ble, catch it Captain down there,” he 
stated. 

He waved a hand toward the gas light at the 


THE BLACK CRUISER 


45 


other end of the hall. Then he opened the door of 
the room nearest to hand. 

“He, hon’ble, stop by here,” he invited. “I go 
make prepare.” 

Martin shrugged his shoulders. There seemed to 
be many preliminaries to an audience with this Cap¬ 
tain Carew. Through the door the Jap held open 
he saw the outlines of a bed, and a rag of carpet. 
When he stepped through the door, the musty, sour 
air of the room smote his nostrils like a blow. 

The Japanese closed the door, and the retreat¬ 
ing echo of his footsteps sounded from the hall. 
Martin had not expected to be thus shut in dark¬ 
ness, but after all it was a small matter. He felt 
his way to the bed and sat down on its edge. 

After a moment he struck a match. The flare 
revealed, as he expected, the meanly appointed bed¬ 
room of a tenth rate hostelry. The single window 
was shuttered. 

He composed himself to patience. This business 
was getting on his nerves. This visit to the Black 
Cruiser was not proving the evening’s anti-climax, 
as he had feared, but he was not enjoying himself. 
The loose face of the Cruiser’s commander, the 
mysterious Japanese, the disturbing secrecy, the foul 
air—he would be glad when his errand was com¬ 
pleted, and he was once again outdoors in the clean, 
fresh air. 

There was an alien taint in that poisonous room. 
With the Japanese in mind he placed it—it was that 
indefinable odor the man of the Orient leaves about 
his abiding place, the smell one gets during a walk 


46 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


through Chinatown. Was this Spulvedo conducting 
this rookery as a Japanese lodging-house? 

A strange place for a sea-captain to lodge. This 
Carew—this “Wild Bob” Carew, as the boatswain 
had termed him—must be a man very indifferent to 
his surroundings, or else mightily anxious to remain 
under cover. The captains Martin had met were 
particular men; one would not find them in such a 
noisome hole. This Carew must be some rough 
renegade. Perhaps he was not even white; perhaps 
he was a half-caste. That would explain his choice 
of lodgings. One would think from all the secret 
mummery with which he surrounded himself that he 
was the Mikado, himself. He certainly was not 
very popular with the boastwain. 

Thus far had Martin got with his musings, when 
his attention was attracted by noises that suddenly 
disturbed the unearthly quiet of the house. They 
reached him quite plainly through the thin walls. 

A door slammed, below stairs. He heard sounds 
of a scuffle. The sounds drew nearer—grunts, ex¬ 
clamations, footsteps. They were coming up the 
stairs. In the hall outside a door was noisily opened. 
Some one ran past his door, and sentences were 
spoken in a harsh, clicking, alien tongue. 

Martin sat tensely on the edge of the bed. What 
was about, there in the hall? The scuffling had 
reached the head of the stairs; now it was opposite 
his door. Several pairs of feet were making that 
noise. Martin heard a voice exclaim chokingly, 
and in English- 

“Let go—let go of me!” 



THE BLACK CRUISER 


47 


It was a strange voice, a rich and thrilling voice, 
and it carried an appeal. A man’s voice? 

Martin felt his way to the door. This affair 
without was none of his business, but he must see 
what was being done to the owner of that voice. 
He must confirm or dispel that vague suspicion. 

He turned the knob and pulled, and the door came 
a few inches. There was an exclamation from some 
one who stood in front of the door. An arm shot 
through the opening, a clenched hand impacted 
against the pit of his stomach, and Martin went 
reeling backward. The door slammed shut and the 
lock clicked. 

Martin fetched up against the bed and sat down 
heavily, experiencing that sharp agony that follows 
upon a plexus punch. In that brief instant he had 
held the door ajar, however, he had witnessed a 
sight that caused him to ignore the pain. He had 
seen what was transpiring in the hall. He had seen 
the group of little yellow men clustered about and 
urging along a single figure that slightly overtopped 
them; a figure clad in a gray overcoat. 

At the very second Martin had looked, a gray 
cap had fallen from the head in the scuffle, and a 
wonderful mass of dark hair had tumbled down 
about the gray-clad shoulders. An excited, protest¬ 
ing face had turned toward him. It was a woman 
those chunky aliens were urging along the hallway, 
a woman clad in a man’s gray overcoat. A white 
woman—a young and beautiful woman! 

Martin crouched on the bed’s edge and panted to 


48 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


recover his breath. The scuffling without grew faint, 
a door slammed, and the house was again quiet. 

Martin’s mind was awhirl, but uppermost in the 
confusing chaos was that startling picture, photo¬ 
graphic in its clearness, of the squat outlanders sur¬ 
rounding the protesting figure. A woman—a white 
woman—in the hands of these yellow men! 

Surely he had seen aright. It was an ill light in 
the hall, but he had looked from a dense darkness, 
and had seen clearly. And had he not heard her 
voice? And seen the feminine tresses tumble about 
the gray-clad shoulders as the cap came off? There 
was some faint stirring of memory in connection 
with the thought of that gray, mannish apparel, but 
Martin was too excited to notice it. He was pos¬ 
sessed by the event. He had caught a glimpse of 
the angry, vivid face. Angry, that w T as it—not fear, 
but anger, in her bearing. They had not wanted 
him to observe the incident, the outrage. They had 
offered him violence. They had slammed and locked 
the door. He was prisoner. 

By this time, Martin, a thoroughly aroused 
young man, was again at the door. He, Martin 
Blake, would not submit to maltreatment and im¬ 
prisonment! He would find out what this yellow 
crew was doing with that girl. 

In the back of his excited mind danced grim shad¬ 
ows of the tales every San Franciscan knows; stories 
of white slaves, of white women being seen entering 
Oriental dens, and being lost forever to the world 
that knew them; of horrible relics of womanhood 


THE BLACK CRUISER 


49 


being discovered years after in some underground 
cave of Chinatown. Sickening thoughts! 

Martin yanked at the door and pounded upon 
the panel. His blows echoed without, but brought 
no other response. He lifted his foot and drove his 
boot against the door. It shivered and splintered. 

Before he could kick a second time, there came a 
cry from the hall, a hurried footfall, and the door 
was unlocked. Martin jerked it open. Confronting 
him was the Japanese who had been his guide, who 
had gone to “make prepare” Captain Carew. 

“You come now,” announced the little man, bow¬ 
ing courteously. 

“What does all this mean?” demanded Martin 
angrily. “Who struck me through the door? How 
dare you lock me in? Who-” 

“He Captain speak you come,” said the other, 
smiling blandly. He shed Martin’s rain of words 
as if he were some yellow oilskin. “I make him 
way—hon’ble fellow my show.” 

“What is going on in this house?” demanded 
Martin. “Who was that white woman? What was 
that gang doing with her?” 

The other backed away before Martin’s excited 
questioning. “No understand,” he said. “No wo¬ 
man—no gang. No savvy.” 

“No savvy—big lie!” cried Martin, and he 
pounced down upon the gray cap which was lying 
on the hallway floor. He held it up for the other’s 
inspection. “You savvy this?” he demanded. 

The Jap shook his head. His smile was gone, 
and there was a hostile gleam in his eyes. 



50 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“That—no understand,” he said crisply. “You 
come for he Captain—you catch business he Cap¬ 
tain!” 

Martin saw he could get nothing from this fellow. 
He was being told very plainly to mind his own busi¬ 
ness. Very well, this Captain Carew was perhaps 
a white man. 

Without further words, Martin followed the Jap¬ 
anese. They went the length of the hall and paused 
before the last door, the one before which the light 
burned. The guide rapped. A deep voice rumbled 
orders within, chairs scraped, a door slammed, and 
the door before which they stood was opened. 


CHAPTER V 


WILD BOB CAREW 

M ARTIN lurched forward past the man who 
opened the door into a room that was 
brightly lighted by gas and kerosene lamps. 
It was a room bare of furniture save for a common 
kitchen table, littered with charts and papers, and 
several kitchen chairs. 

It was a large room, much larger than the one 
he had just quitted, the full width of the house, and, 
it seemed, part of a suite, for two doors, besides 
the one he entered through, let upon it, from the 
rear wall. But these details only impressed them¬ 
selves upon Martin’s mind later, and gradually. At 
the instant of his tempestuous entrance, he was en¬ 
tirely engrossed with his obsession, and he had eyes 
only for the dominant figure that stood behind the 
paper-littered table in the center of the room. To 
this man Martin addressed himself without prelimi¬ 
nary. 

“That woman—didn’t you hear?” he cried. 
“These Japs have a woman prisoner in this house— 

a white woman! See! This is her cap. I saw-” 

“Are you the messenger who was to come to me 
tonight?” interrupted the man addressed. He 
spoke in a commanding and vibrant bass voice. 

It was suddenly borne in upon Martin’s conscious- 




52 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


ness that he was in the presence of a personality. 
They were immobile yellow gargoyles, those two 
Japs who stood against the farther wall, they did 
not count. But this man who stood across the table 
from him—the air of the room was electric with his 
presence. A commanding and forceful personality, 
but a hostile personality, there was a chill in that 
interruption. But the momentum of his feelings 
carried Martin on. 

“In the hall—shoving her along—she was strug¬ 
gling! A white girl! Those yellow-” 

“What is your business with me?” The heavy 
voice beat down Martin’s words. It was as if he 
had not spoken. “I am Captain Carew. You have 
a message for me?” 

Martin checked his splutter of words. The 
other’s sentences were like a dash of cold water; 
they cleared his mind. There was menace in that 
heavy voice, in the other’s attitude, in the frosty 
gleam of his eyes. That veiled threat sobered Mar¬ 
tin. He stood still and played his eyes upon the 
other in appraisal. 

And he was a picture to fill the eye, this man who 
bore himself so disdainfully, this Captain Wild Bob 
Carew. Went glimmering the graceless, blasphe¬ 
mous sea-renegade of Martin’s fancy. Martin 
caught his breath with unforced admiration as he 
measured the other’s form and face. 

Captain Carew was big and blond, as Smatt had 
predicted. He was also quite the handsomest man 
Martin had ever seen. He stood at least six feet, 
and was leanly and finely built. He was, perhaps, 




WILD BOB CAREW 


53 


thirty-five years old, but the springiness of youth 
was still in his carriage. 

Martin gained from him the impression of great 
physical strength. The face was finely chiseled, 
virile, aristocratic, a face to compel men’s admira¬ 
tion, to turn women’s heads. But Martin divined 
the flaw in that fine mask. The full, curved lips 
were shaded by a short, blond mustache, but that 
hirsute covering did not conceal the cruel quirk at 
the lips’ corners. The face was ruddy, even in that 
light, and unlined. The eyes, probably blue in day¬ 
light, were black and glittering; and they bore Mar¬ 
tin’s scrutiny without a flicker. But after a moment 
the cruel lips curled scornfully. 

“Well, my good fellow, have you quite finished 
with your inspection?” said Carew. “I hope you 
have discovered nothing about my appearance that 
displeases you.” 

The cavalier tone brought Martin to himself with 
a start. He had been taken aback by the appear¬ 
ance of Captain Carew, the man so different from 
his preconceived picture. This was no rough bully 
of the seas; Carew’s bearing and dandified apparel 
bespoke gentility. Martin had just observed one of 
the captain’s hands, a slender, white, aristocratic 
hand, small for the man’s size. On the back of the 
hand was a star, tattooed in red. 

The tattooing recalled Smatt and Smatt’s words; 
recalled to Martin his reason for being in that room; 
banished for the moment his knight-errant mood. 
He thrust his hand into his inside overcoat pocket 


54 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

and felt of the envelope. Smatt’s formula came to 
his lips. 

“I wish to see you on the Hakodate business,” 
he said. 

“It is time that business was settled. Did the 
Chief send you?” Carew responded promptly. 

“That is correct,” said Martin. 

He half withdrew the envelope from his pocket 
and then hesitated. This Carew was a severe and 
superior person. The packet delivered, Martin 
foresaw instant dismissal. And that poor girl! 
Yet, Carew was a white man. 

“But, Captain Carew, you could not have under¬ 
stood me aright!” he appealed. “I tell you, these 
Japanese have a young white woman-” 

“Enough!” barked Carew. His tone made Mar¬ 
tin jump. “Young man, you were sent here to de¬ 
liver certain papers to me. Do so.” 

Silently, Martin handed over the envelope. He 
was baffled. He was angry. 

“Now—get out!” commanded Carew, waving 
him toward the hall. 

Martin turned toward the exit. Hot, edged 
words were on his tongue’s tip, and he could not 
trust himself to further urge this cold-blooded 
wretch. He took a step toward the door and then 
stopped short, staring into the corner of the room. 
He saw a man’s gray overcoat lying on the floor in 
the corner. 

He wheeled upon Carew again and found the 
latter’s eyes upon him in a threatening glare. 

“You—you—that coat!” stammered Martin. 



WILD BOB CAREW 


55 


“Enough!” exclaimed Carew. “You have fin¬ 
ished your business with me, young man. You will 
find your guide in the hall; he will conduct you to 
the street. And a word of advice, my good fellow: 
If you value your skin and your employment, you 
will promptly forget everything and anything you 
may have seen in this house!” 

Martin choked upon his rage. Within him surged 
a hot hatred of this insolent sailor; this captain of 
yellow bravos; this abductor of girls; this man who 
dared not face the daylight. He was a worm be¬ 
neath the Captain’s feet. He was—well, the worm 
could turn. 

He moved toward the door. Yes, he would go, 
and quickly. 

“If you value your skin and your employment!” 
So that was it -—a threat! He would show this high¬ 
handed captain that Martin Blake would risk his 
skin as readily as the next man; and as for his em¬ 
ployment—a fig for Smatt, and Dr. Ichi, and all 
their ilk! They were crooks; this Carew was a 
crook. They held that girl against her will. It 
was all a piece of some dirty, crooked work. Well, 
the police. . . . 

“God, what treachery is this!” 

The booming sentence arrested Martin at the 
door. He lifted his hand from the knob and turned 
to the voice. Carew, his face convulsed with pas- 
• sion, was regarding him. 

“What does this mean?” cried Carew. He shook 
a handful of papers at Martin. “Conic back here, 
you! Explain this beastly trick!” 


56 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


Martin went back. He noticed, as he drew close 
to the other, that the envelope he had given the cap¬ 
tain lay empty and torn on the table. 

“Well, what is it? What trick?” he demanded 
shortly. 

“What trick!” mimicked Carew. “Look here. 
Is this what you were to deliver to me?” 

He thrust the sheaf of papers beneath Martin’s 
nose. They were sheets of blank, white paper, and 
they had been creased by folding. 

“This is what that precious envelope contained,” 

continued Carew. “Tell me, what- foolery is 

this? Where is that code translation? Where are 
my instructions? Where are my clearance papers? 
Hey—you staring fool!” 

“Stop that!” flared Martin. “You moderate your 
tone when you speak to me! If you have any com¬ 
plaint to make about the contents of that envelope, 
make them to Josiah Smatt, and that Dr. Ichi. I 
know nothing about the contents. The envelope was 
given to me sealed, and I delivered it to you sealed.” 

“It has been tampered with,” declared Carew. 

“It has not,” asserted Martin. “I have had it 
in my pocket, on my person, since Smatt gave it to 
me. I delivered it to you with the contents intact. 
If you found those blank sheets within, they were 
placed there before I received the envelope.” 

Carew favored Martin with a steely and search¬ 
ing stare; atod Martin, ablaze with resentment, 
stared boldly back. Martin’s bearing, and his posi¬ 
tive statements, evidently impressed the captain. 

“You had better take the matter up with the men 



WILD BOB CAREW 57 

who sent me here,” said Martin. “I have finished 
with my part of the affair. I wish to go.” 

“You are jolly well right I’ll take the matter up 
with the men who sent you here!” exclaimed Carew. 
“And I’ll take the matter up at once. Meanwhile, 
you will remain here. I’ll not lose track of you 
until I get to the bottom of this affair.” 

“Do you mean you intend to detain me here? 
Whether I will or no?” demanded the thoroughly 
angered Martin. 

“I do,” stated Carew. 

He barked an order in a foreign tongue. The 
two gargoyles at the other end of the room sprang 
to life and started swiftly toward Martin. 

Martin wheeled about and darted for the door 
to the hallway. He reached it, and was jerking 
it open, when the two Japs flung themselves upon 
him. He lifted one from his feet with a well-placed 
swing. The other flung his arms about Martin’s 
neck and clung there. 

Martin staggered into the hall, wrestling with 
that leech-like hug. He tore free from the fellow; 
and as he did he caught a glimpse of Captain Carew 
through the open door. The man had not moved 
from his station behind the table. 

Then a mountain seemed to drop upon Martin’s 
back. He was crushed face downward upon the 
floor, enveloped and smothered by a vast and sour¬ 
smelling bulk. 

He struggled desperately and succeeded in partly 
rolling over on his back. He flailed his arm twice, 
and felt his fist strike against soft flesh. He saw 


<58 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


hanging over him the unwholesome face of the sa¬ 
loonkeeper, Spulvedo. 

Then a heavy blow smote his jaw-bone, and he 
went a-dancing through a world of bright, shooting 
stars, into darkness. 


CHAPTER VI 


PRISONER 

T HE results of a forceful tap on the 
human jaw are various. One man lies inert, 
dead of body, blank of mind; a second 
writhes about and babbles; a third retains a modi¬ 
cum of control over locomotion, but the mind jour¬ 
neys afar into a phantasmagoric world. 

Martin was the third man during this, his first, 
reaction to a knockout blow. Ele was not com¬ 
pletely unconscious, but that terrific jolt seemed to 
divorce body and mind. So far as further resistance 
was concerned, he was helpless. He swam about 
in an opaque mist. There, afar off, on the floor, 
was stretched another Martin Blake, a shadow of 
Martin Blake; and he saw monstrous things sur¬ 
rounding this adumbration of himself, headless 
bodies, and bodiless heads, and detached arms and 
legs. 

He saw these parts of men haul the unreal Mar¬ 
tin Blake to his feet and bundle him through the 
door, back into the big, lighted room. He saw this 
other self, body sagging, head hanging, stand again 
before the paper-littered table and sway to and fro 
upon tottering legs. He heard, from a great dis¬ 
tance, the deep rumble of Captain Carew’s voice— 
but all he could see of Carew was a foot and a sec- 


59 


60 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


tion of leg. He saw a wide expanse of bare floor, 
and the floor was moving. 

He hung suspended before a door. Came 
Carew’s voice— 

“Not there—fools—next room.” 

More moving floor. Another door. The door 
receded and showed a black hole. Again the deep 
voice— 

“Good place—safe—just quill-pusher—dump.” 

A headlong flight through darkness, falling, fall¬ 
ing, into the bottomless pit. A crash. And Martin’s 
mind and Martin’s body became one again as he 
struck the floor. 

He was lying face downward upon a bare floor. 
He sat up. His head was ringing, and he could feel 
that his cheek was swelling. His addled wits slowly 
settled themselves. He moved his head about and 
took stock, as well as he could, of his new surround¬ 
ings. 

He retained a vague memory of his passage 
through the big room, and of the two doors. So, he 
knew the place he had been so unceremoniously 
dumped into was one of the rooms that opened upon 
Carew’s headquarters. The only light that entered 
the place crept under the door from the room with¬ 
out. He knew, without experiment, the door was 
locked upon him. 

The room felt bare. He struck one of his few 
remaining matches. The room was bare, not a stick 
of furniture in it. The single window was closed, 
and he supposed it was shuttered as well, for he 
could not see through it. But he would make sure. 




PRISONER 


61 


He clambered to his feet, a bit dizzy yet but well 
able to control his movements. He moved softly 
toward the window, feeling his way. 

In a second his hand touched the window-ledge. 
He felt along the sash and shoved upward. To his 
surprise, the window lifted easily. But the hand 
he shoved without met, as he expected it would, a 
heavy wooden shutter; and his investigating fingers 
disclosed, moreover, a padlock, that, by means of a 
staple sunk in the sill, locked the shutter fast. No 
hope of getting away through the window. 

The certainty that he was imprisoned in this 
sealed box of a room was not soothing to Martin’s 
temper. He was not frightened—he was angry. 
The haughty Carew had aroused in him resentment; 
now, he had been slugged semi-conscious and locked 
in this room. His anger reached the proportions 
of a rage, a hot, furious rage. 

He left the window and crossed to the door. He 
did not try this time to soften his footfalls—he did 
not care who heard him. 

He tried the door. Locked. He shook it, and 
rattled it. No response, but his straining ears 
caught the sound of light footfalls without. 

He pounded upon the door, shouted threats, de¬ 
mands, challenges. He was in the mood to flog the 
whole vile brood of this Pension Spulvedo. 

He resorted to the method that had brought him 
freedom once before that night—he lifted his foot 
and drove his boot against the door. And, as be¬ 
fore, the response was immediate. 

A peremptory voice was raised in the other room. 


62 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Be quiet, you, een there! Eef you be not quiet, 
I feex you!” 

A well-remembered voice! That greasy villain 
of a saloonkeeper was out there! It was Spulvedo 
who had smote him on the jaw. Martin redoubled 
his blows on the door. 

“Stop! Santa Maria y eef you not stop, I shoot!” 

Martin kicked away. The door, of flimsy enough 
construction, seemed on point of giving way. Then, 
there happened in such rapid sequence as to seem 
simultaneous, several things. 

There was an ear-splitting crash, a splintering of 
wood, a hot streak passing so close to Martin’s head 
it scorched, a tinkle of broken glass from the win¬ 
dow behind him, a smell of burnt gunpowder. 

Martin stood on one leg, like a stork, his free 
foot suspended for the kick he did not deliver. 
There was a queer sinking feeling in that inward 
organ that received his food. He stared at a little 
hole in the door panel, just above his head—a little 
bullet-hole that glowed yellow with the light from 
the other room. The man had shot through the 
door at him! 

“Eef you not stop the keek, I shoot lower!” came 
the voice. 

Martin sat down quickly upon the floor. Then, 
on second thought, he crawled into the nearest cor¬ 
ner and crouched against the wall. 

To be shot at, to have Death’s hot breath scorch 
one’s very hair, might very well daunt a person of 
more tumultuous antecedents than Martin Blake. 
To a young man whose chief occupation in life has 


PRISONER 


63 


been the warming of an office chair, such an expe¬ 
rience is apt to prove unnerving. It spoke well of 
the stuff Martin was made of that he was not overly 
frightened. But Martin was certainly a bit shaken. 

He suddenly discovered there was a vast differ¬ 
ence between braving death in spirit in the pages of 
a book, and braving death in person in a locked up¬ 
stairs room of a dubious and isolated boozing den. 
It was all very well for, say, Roger De Puyster, hero 
of that swanking tale “Death before Dishonor” to 
disregard such trifles as revolver shots and threats 
of death. But as for Martin Blake, law clerk, well, 
he squatted low and hugged close in his corner. No 
panic gripped him, but the instinct of self-preserva¬ 
tion is a primal instinct. Martin’s condition of 
mind, for the moment, was that bromidic state, “bet¬ 
ter imagined than described.” 

Chiefly, he w T as astonished. He, Martin Blake, 
had at last encountered a real adventure! He, the 
obscure law clerk and messenger, whose existence 
was a drab routine, whose every act must favor dull 
convention, had suddenly tumbled into the meshes of 
a dark intrigue, undoubtedly unlawful, where men’s 
violent passions were given free rein. 

In the short space of a half-hour, he had wit¬ 
nessed an abduction, been assaulted, imprisoned, 
murderously shot at! These things had happened 
to him, to Mrs. Meagher’s star boarder, to Martin 
Blake, the despised quill-pusher! There was in 
Martin’s mood, as he crouched there in the corner, 
that transcended his anger, his wonder, his fear, 
something that was close akin to exhilaration. 


64 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


It was very still. His thumping heart seemed 
to him to be the only sound that reached his strain¬ 
ing ears. 

What was going on out there in the big room? 
He had not heard Carew’s voice. Was the captain 
still there? Was Spulvedo crouching without the 
door, pistol raised, waiting for him to “keek”? 
Where were the mysterious Japanese? What were 
they—Carew’s men or Dr. Ichi’s? 

Strange thing about that envelope. Martin had 
been as much surprised as Carew at the contents. 
What kind of a game were Smatt and Ichi playing, 
sending him with injunctions of secrecy to deliver 
sheets of blank paper? Carew declared the envelope 
had been tampered with, but Martin knew better. 
It had not left his possession. Had Smatt foreseen 
the reception that would be accorded his messenger? 
He did not doubt it. Smatt was a cold-blooded fish; 

i 

he would not hesitate to risk his clerk’s skin if a 
dollar profit were in sight. Did Smatt and Ichi 
know about the abduction—the imprisonment of 
that girl who masqueraded in the gray overcoat? 

Aye, the girl—that was the important thing! 
Who was she? Where had she been taken? If he 
could only get word to the police! He had no fears 
for himself, at least, not many. When Carew had 
adjusted the matter of the envelope with Smatt and 
Ichi, why, of course, he would be turned loose. But 
the woman—those yellow men. . . . 

Martin’s ears became suddenly aware of a faint, 
strange sound. It was a sound he had been en¬ 
deavoring subconsciously to place during the period 



PRISONER 


65 


of his musing; he had almost identified it as his 
heart-beats. Now, alert and listening, he placed it. 
It was a tapping on the other side of the wall he 
leaned against, a light tap-tap-tap. It started, 
stopped, started. 

Somebody was tapping on the wall in the next 
room. Another prisoner! It was the girl—of 
course, it was the girl. 

Martin was instantly sure of the tapper’s identity, 
with a sureness born of intuition and memory. He 
remembered the two doors opening from the big 
room, the gray overcoat lying in the corner, Carew’s 
words when the semi-conscious Martin Blake was 
held poised before the other door. “Not there— 
next room.” Those were Carew’s words. Why, 
of course, the Japs had brought the girl to Carew, 
and he had shut her in the next room. 

Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap. There it came again. 
Martin rapped against the wall with his own 
knuckles, paused, rapped again. Instantly came the 
response from the other side, the same number of 
raps. A plain answer. 

But Martin’s elation was short lived. The un¬ 
seen tapper immediately commenced again, tap-tap, 
tap-tap-tap-tap, tap. 

Surely there w T as method in that irregular tapping. 
A signal, a talk in code! But he could not read it. 
Nor dare he lift his voice in shouted communication 
through the wall—Spulvedo, and bullets, hung over 
him. One experience of being shot at while un¬ 
armed and helpless was sufficient. It would not 
help the girl for him to get himself shot. 


66 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


The unevenly tapped message came again. The 
best he could do was repeat the taps. But this, evi¬ 
dently, did not satisfy the sender. The tapping on 
the other side ceased. Though he rapped till his 
knuckles were sore, he could not induce the other 
to recommence. 

The gloom of the room was less dense, Martin’s 
accustomed eyes being now able to discern all four 
walls and the outline of the window. A-fever with 
excitement as he was, the inactivity palled upon him, 
became unbearable. He must do something. Well, 
he would try the window again. 

But first he crept to the door and endeavored to 
peer through the key-hole into the big room. He 
hoped to get a view of what was happening without, 
of Carew, of Spulvedo. But he was disappointed. 
The key, thrust in the lock on the outer side, com¬ 
pletely barred any outlook. He pressed his ear 
against the door, but heard nothing. 

A second later he w r as at the window, feeling of 
the padlocked shutter. 

He drew his penknife from his pocket. It was a 
tiny, ridiculous blade, and it seemed futile to hope 
it would dig that stout staple out of the sill; still, 
thought Martin, any sort of attempt was better than 
no attempt. 

He leaned over the sill and pecked away with his 
office tool. Of a sudden, a draft of cold, fresh air 
rushed up into his face. At the same instant, his 
other hand, which was leaning against the shutter, 
felt the shutter bulge slightly outward, and his ears 
caught a distinct, but not loud, scraping sound. 


PRISONER 


67 


The sound increased, the bulge increased, the 
draft increased. Martin felt the staple that held 
the padlock bending, felt, also, the prying edge of a 
small steel bar between the sill edge and the shutter. 
Some one was outside, breaking entrance. 

He drew to one side, shrinking against the wall, 
instinctively holding his breath. The prying of the 
shutter from without steadily continued. Conjec¬ 
tures and hopes surged through his mind—it was a 
burglar, it was the police, it was some unknown, 
unguessed friend. He didn't care who it was so 
long as the shutter was opened. 

His heart beat a bass-drum solo against his ribs. 
There were distinct, rasping creaks from the win¬ 
dow-sill—the staple was groaning at being hauled 
from its wooden bed. There was a sharp crack, and 
the shutter swung open. Martin heard a relieved 
grunt, felt the cool, fresh air enveloping him, and 
saw a square of black sky, lighted with a few stars. 

A hand grasped the window-sill and slid along it. 
Martin stared at the hand, fascinated. It seemed 
no more than a writhing shadow. 

Then a head abruptly bobbed into the square 
of uncertain light. It was a familiar head; even 
against that dark background Martin recognized it 
promptly; it was an unusually large head, sur¬ 
mounted by a ridiculously small hat. A well re¬ 
membered voice reached Martin’s ear in a guarded 
whisper: 

“Miss Ruth, Miss Ruth! Are you there, Miss 
Ruth?” 

It was the hunchback, Little Billy. 


68 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Martin’s long-held breath exploded with a sudden 
pop. The hunchback stiffened at the sound and 
hung motionless, half over the sill. He peered into 
the dark room evidently endeavoring to locate the 
noise. 

“Miss Ruth?” he hissed sharply. 

Martin stepped from the wall towards the win¬ 
dow. 

“It is I,” he commenced. 

“Stop! Don’t move, don’t yell. I have you cov¬ 
ered!” was Little Billy’s sharp injunction; and Mar¬ 
tin caught the gleam of steel in the other’s hand, 
saw the muzzle of a revolver pointed at his chest. 

“No, no, don’t shoot!” he exclaimed. “It is I, 
Martin Blake, the law clerk. Don’t you remember 
—the fellow who was talking to you by the fire 
hydrant?” 

“The law clerk I Good Lord! Have they shang¬ 
haied you?” 

“Yes, I’m locked in this room,” said Martin. 
“They are guarding the door. That fellow, Spul- 
vedo, just took a shot at me because I tried to 
break out. Don’t speak loudly—they’ll overhear.” 

“I’m coming in,” whispered Little Billy. 

He wriggled his body further over the sill, swung 
about and dropped to the floor by Martin’s side. 
Immediately, he turned and thrust his head out of 
the window and spoke a few words in an undertone 
to some one below. 

Martin leaned over Little Billy’s shoulder and 
peered out. He discovered the means by which the 
hunchback had reached that second story window— 


PRISONER 


69 


about nine feet below was the roof of a shed that 
abutted against the side of the building, and on the 
farther side of the shed was a dark space that looked 
like an alley, a freight entrance probably to the 
great brick warehouse that reared its blank, window¬ 
less side just opposite. He saw that his previous 
surmise had been correct—this room he had been 
confined in was a rear room, the shed below was 
doubtless an outhouse of the saloon, the street 
yonder was Green Street. 

Martin grasped these details at a glance. What 
really interested him at the moment was a man’s 
figure just below him on the roof of the shed. The 
upturned face was but a few feet distant; the man 
bulked huge in the shadow. It was the boatswain. 
Martin divined the method of the hunchback’s 
assault upon the shutters—he had evidently stood 
upon the giant’s shoulders. 

“Stand by, Bos,” called Little Billy softly. “I’m 
inside, all right.” 

“Aye, aye,” came the answering rumble. “ ’Ave 
you found ’er, lad? ’Oo’s that lookin’ over your 
shoulder?” 

“It is that clerk,” said Little Billy. “ ‘Wild Bob’ 
locked him up. No, she isn’t-” 

He straightened up and clutched Martin’s arm. 

“You in here alone?” he demanded. “I am look¬ 
ing-” 

“I know—a girl,” interrupted Martin excitedly. 
“I think she is in the next room. A white girl. 
The japs caught her and turned her over to Carew. 
Had on a man’s gray overcoat, and-” 





70 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Did you see her? Is she safe?” 

“Think so. They haven’t had time to harm her. 
I think she is in the next room. Some one was rap¬ 
ping on the wall.” 

“Code talk!” supplemented the hunchback. “That 
is Ruth. She thinks I was caught, too. She has 
been trying to communicate with me. Must have 
heard them put you in here. Which wall?” 

He darted to the side of the room Martin indi¬ 
cated, moving lightly and soundlessly. He started 
a light tapping on the wall, the same irregular 
tapping that had puzzled Martin a few moments 
before. Hardly had he begun when faint replies 
came from the next room. 

Martin tiptoed to the door and pressed his ear 
against it. Events were crowding him swiftly. He 
had no time or data for cool reasoning. The boat¬ 
swain, the hunchback, the imprisoned woman, 
Carew, the envelope, Ichi and Smatt—it was all a 
mysterious jumble that he had no time to bother 
with. His impulse controlled him, and his impulse 
enlisted him upon the girl’s side against Carew. 
Little Billy and the boatswain he accepted without 
question as friends. Had they not opened the win¬ 
dow, and the way to freedom? So he listened at 
the door while the hunchback exchanged signals, 
alert for alarming sounds from the big room. But 
he heard nothing. 

For several moments the strange conversation 
continued through the wall. Twice, Martin heard 
the hunchback mutter an oath. Then, after a final 



PRISONER 


71 


series of raps, the little man left the wall and crept 
to Martin’s side. 

“Yes, she is in there,” he announced. “We will 
have to work swiftly. What do you know of this 
house—how constructed?” 

Martin described in whispers the plan of the 
building as he knew it—the hall and stairs, the 
large room, the two smaller rooms opening off it. 
He also told Little Billy of his own rough expe¬ 
rience, though he did not mention the envelope. 

“Spulvedo is on guard on the other side of this 
door,” he concluded. “He is armed, and he won’t 
hesitate to shoot.” 

“I know he would shoot,” said Little Billy grimly. 
“So will I shoot, if necessary. You have been thrust 
into a desperate business, my friend. Oh, I under¬ 
stand your position, even better than you, yourself. 
I know why you were seized and locked in here. I 
warn you truly, you are in some danger. Carew, or 
any of his crowd, would snuff you out in an instant 
if he thought fit. I am not going to ask you to risk 
your skin in an affair that does not concern you. 
There is the window—the bosun will let you pass.” 

“I’ll stay and help you, if you'll have me,” 
promptly replied Martin. “I am not afraid to take 
a chance. And that girl—those yellow-” 

“I knew you would stick!” interrupted the hunch¬ 
back. His hand grasped Martin’s in a congratula¬ 
tory grip. “I knew I had not misjudged you—you 
are a white man. We must get her away, and we 
dare not call the police into this affair. But there 



72 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


is nothing crooked on our side of the fence. Here, 
take this—you may need it!” 

Little Billy thrust something into Martin’s hand, 
and Martin thrilled at the feel of it. It was a 
pistol, a compact, automatic messenger of death. 
But once or twice before had Martin ever handled 
such a weapon, and he had never shot one at a living 
mark. Nevertheless, it fitted snugly and naturally 
into his palm. He even contemplated, with a cer¬ 
tain amount of pleasure, its instant use upon the 
divekeeper’s gross person. There was a subtle and 
lasting change of character in that brief moment— 
Martin Blake, law clerk, became of the dead past, 
and Martin Blake, adventurer, stepped into the law 
clerk’s boots. 

“It is too risky to make a rush through this door,” 
Little Billy was saying. “They would hear us and 
be on guard. We will try the next window.” 

He darted to the window, and Martin followed. 
The purposeful hunchback was a stimulating sur¬ 
prise, a far cry from the eloquent Little Billy of the 
fire hydrant to the energetic Little Billy of the mo¬ 
ment ! The man of words become the man of action. 

Little Billy leaned out of the window, and whis¬ 
pered. 

“Aye, aye,” Martin heard the hoarse whisper in 
reply. 

“Stand by, we are coming out—both of us,’’ ad¬ 
monished Little Billy. 

He vaulted over the sill, clung a moment, and 
dropped. Martin saw the boatswain catch the little 
man in midair and lower him gently to his feet. 


PRISONER 


73 


“Come on,” the hunchback then called softly. 

Martin divested himself of his overcoat. The 
cause, he thought, was worth the sacrifice, and the 
garment was cumbersome. Then he clambered over 
the sill and lowered himself. 

He was preparing to drop, when a resistless 
clutch fastened upon his hips. He was handed 
through the air as if he were a feather, and set 
gently upon his feet at Little Billy’s side. The boat¬ 
swain’s gruff whisper was in his ear— 

“Swiggle me, ladibuck, I ’ad no thought to run 
afoul of you again.” 

“Come on—next window,” commanded Little 
Billy. 

He shrank against the side of the building and 
began to edge himself along. Martin and the boat¬ 
swain followed. Martin looked up. The window 
they had just climbed through was a mere black 
blot, the window that was their objective was a mere 
outline overhead and a few feet to one side. No be¬ 
traying light hazarded them, there on the shed. 
The warehouse behind them, and the building 
against which they crouched, combined to drape 
them in black shadow. Unless they made a noise, 
Martin divined there was not much chance of their 
being discovered. 

Little Billy paused beneath the other window, and 
Martin and the boatswain pressed close to his side. 

“Now, bosun, lend me your shoulders,” said 
Little Billy. “If this shutter is fastened the same 
way the other one was, we won’t have much trouble. 
Hand me the bar.” 


74 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


The boatswain produced a short steel bar from 
some place about his person and handed it to the 
hunchback. Then he braced his back against the 
building, directly below the desired window, and 
picking up Little Billy, hoisted the little fellow to 
his own broad shoulders. The hunchback perched 
there a moment and delivered instructions to 
Martin. 

“You stand lookout,” he instructed. “Watch 
the street. Listen for footsteps.” 

Martin obediently crept to the edge of the shed’s 
roof that overlooked the street and posted himself 
there as watchman. The alley was on his left hand, 
but it was so dark there he could not see the ground. 
The street, just before him, was not so impervious 
to peering eyes. 

The cobblestones and the sidewalk pavement 
gleamed dully. By stretching his neck, he could see 
the corner where the street lamp spluttered before 
the saloon entrance, and beyond the corner, the 
wide vista of the Embarcadero and a section of 
dark wharf. But he saw nothing threatening in the 
scene. Nothing moved—the street was empty of 
life. The only sounds were the hooting of steam¬ 
boat whistles on the bay and the light rattle of Little 
Billy's bar against the shutter. 

Then, abruptly, came from around the corner, in 
front of the saloon, the muffled throb of an automo¬ 
bile engine. It sank to a purr, and stopped. Martin 
stiffened tensely and gripped the revolver in his 
hand. Behind him, he heard the boatswain mutter: 


PRISONER 


75 


u ’Ear that, Billy? Swigglc me, ’e’s back— 
’urry!” 

The scraping sound of the steel bar upon the 
shutter increased in volume. Martin heard a 
mumble of voices, and a stamping of feet on the 
pavement. Then a door closed and the sounds 
ceased. Martin knew that several men had entered 
the saloon. The danger seemed to have passed 
them by. 

Pie heard Little Billy give vent to a satisfied 
grunt. He looked up, over his shoulder, and saw 
that the jimmy had completed its task. The shutter 
was open, Little Billy was clambering down from 
the boatswain’s shoulders, an indistinct figure was 
half over the sill, clambering out of the newly 
opened window. And in the same glance, he saw 
a beam of yellow light illumine the other window, 
the window of the room in which he had been pris¬ 
oner. His ears were assailed with a sudden outcry 
coming through that window- 

“He ees gone!” 

It happened in the twinkling of an eye. Martin 
wheeled about at the sight and sound. He had no 
time for reflection, but he knew instantly that his 
escape had been discovered, that the light above 
came from the big room where he had bearded 
Carew, that they had opened the door and found 
him gone. 

Feet trampled in the room. A man’s figure was 
framed in the lighted window—a bloated bulk that 
he knew was Spulvedo. A flame shot from that 
figure into his very face. The missile struck the 



7G 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


roof close to his side and splattered shingle and dirt 
in his face. Without hesitation, he straightened his 
own arm and fired point blank at the living mark. 
Spulvedo emitted a stifled shriek and fell from sight. 

The window was empty again. Not until long 
afterward did Martin recall that his conscious mind 
never received the sound of those tw T o shots. 

A dark figure brushed past him and dropped 
over the edge of the roof to the street. The boat¬ 
swain followed. Little Billy was by his side, grasp¬ 
ing his shoulder. 

“Come on—roll off!” the hunchback v/as urging. 

The second window overhead was suddenly alight, 
and a booming voice was cursing in the room. Mar¬ 
tin rolled off the edge and fell into the boatswain’s 
arms. 

Then he was on his feet, running, by the boat¬ 
swain’s side. Just in front of him raced the hunch¬ 
back, and a queer figure in man's clothes, whose 
long hair streamed behind. He heard men shouting. 

They passed the corner and started across the 
Embarcadero toward the wharves. Far down the 
street a police whistle w r as blowing shrilly. Behind 
them, the Black Cruiser was spewing forth its brood. 

The street was wide. They were not nearly 
across when these sounds of pursuit reached Mar¬ 
tin’s ears. He heard the pounding of feet behind 
him, and the sound of shots. He heard the hunch¬ 
back fling over his shoulder: 

“Hold them back, bos! We’ll get the boat free!” 

The boatswain stopped short and wheeled about. 
Martin’s momentum carried him several steps 


PRISONER 


77 


farther, then he too checked his stride. Intuitively, 
he knew his place was at the boatswain’s side. 

The boatswain was on one knee, shooting rapidly 
at a cluster of retreating figures. The Black Cruiser 
was still emptying itself. Everywhere before the 
saloon, it seemed to Martin, were darting forms. 

From behind telegraph poles, from kneeling fig¬ 
ures, came the spurting flames of revolver shots. 
The reports were a sharp rattle. Martin dropped 
to his knee and raised his arm. The gun in his hand 
leaped like a live thing as he pulled the trigger. 
He was given entirely over to the battle lust of the 
moment. He was cool, he was happy, he laughed 
aloud, and he shot rapidly, with intent to kill, at 
the enemy figures yonder. 

The police whistles sounded insistently, more 
shrilly. Martin sensed there was a commotion a 
block or so down the street—approaching police, 
he knew. 

The boatswain was on his feet and backing to¬ 
ward the dock. His voice warned Martin- 

“Avast there, nipper!” 

Martin found his feet also and commenced to 
retreat. One of the enemy figures was coming 
straight for them, ignoring the shots. There was 
something distinctive, contemptuous, about that 
charge. Martin knew the approaching figure was 
Carew. He took aim, crooked his finger, and found 
his weapon empty. He drew back his arm and 
hurled the gun straight at the other, and at the 
same instant the charging man shot. And darkness 
enveloped Martin as he fell. 



CHAPTER VII 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG Cohasset 

M ARTIN returned to consciousness gradually, 
and via the nightmare route. He was be¬ 
ing put to torture. He was bound, help¬ 
less, and a steel band encircled his head, and sharp 
spikes were probing his brain. 

He was surrounded by gibbering and leering slant¬ 
eyed yellow faces; they screamed at him without let¬ 
up, and his ears rang with their fiendish outcry. 
But mingled with, and woven into, that barbarous 
howl was a softer and friendlier note, at which his 
groping wits clutched eagerly; it was a clear, musical 
chant, and somehow, it soothed his hurts, and gave 
him courage to face his torturers. The yellow faces 
grimaced horridly at him. He was being roughly 
rolled about. So, he opened his eyes. 

He was staring upward at the bare, wooden bot¬ 
tom-side of a bunk. It was a long moment before 
he could identify that blank expanse. Then he dis¬ 
covered that he was lying in a bunk, and there was 
something the matter with his couch, it bounced 
about, and his feet were, as often as not, higher 
than his head. 

He was in a room. Just before his eyes was a 
little round window in the wall, and through it fil¬ 
tered a feeble daylight when his feet were ascendant, 

78 



THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 79 


and when his head was uppermost he glimpsed 
racing, green water on the other side of the thick 
glass circle. It was strangely unaccountable. 

His eyes roved. The mists were clearing some¬ 
what from his mind. He w r as in a room, yes, the 
queerest little cubby-hole he had ever seen. There 
was a lamp in a rack against the wall, and the lamp 
remained stationary and upright while the wall be¬ 
hind it reeled drunkenly. 

Clothes dangled from pegs as if inhabited by 
dancing ghosts. Somewhere, crockery rattled. 
There was an alarming creaking, as if great timbers 
were grinding together. And there was, over all, 
a shrill, menacing, unceasing howl—the same dread 
sounds that had made part of his dream. 

Also persisted the singing voice that had drawn 
him safely out of his marish visions. His eyes, con¬ 
tinuing their sweep, passed by a tiny desk, a rack 
of books, a swinging wash-basin, and encountered 
the source of that musical chant. The hunchback, 
Little Billy, was seated crosslegged upon the floor, 
sewing on some piece of wearing apparel, and, as he 
deftly plied the needle, he crooned his ditty in the 
pure tenor that had before charmed Martin. 

“A-roving, a-roving, 

Since roving’s been my ru-u-in-” 

So far he got, when he looked up and saw Mar¬ 
tin’s eyes fixed upon him. He promptly threw his 
work aside, leaped to his feet and bent over the 
bunk. His impish, friendly face was wreathed in 
a cordial smile. 



80 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Why, hello, old scout! Had your sleep out? 
How do you feel?” was his cheerful greeting. 

Martin had been fully occupied in receiving im¬ 
pressions during the few moments he had been 
awake, and until Little Billy spoke, he had not con¬ 
sidered himself. But at the other’s words, he sud¬ 
denly discovered that something was the matter 
with his body. He was sick. His head hurt, and 
something terrible was happening to his inner man 
—he was ascending to great heights only to drop 
swiftly to great depths. It was his stomach, his 
stomach was performing a rapid and continuous 
journey between his throat and the soles of his feet. 
He ached all over. He felt it was the end; it was 
approaching dissolution. 

“My inside—my stomach. I’m dying!” he man¬ 
aged to gasp. 

Little Billy’s elfish grin grew wider. The wretch 
even chuckled as he contemplated Martin’s misery. 

“Oh, that is nothing,” Martin heard him say. 
“Just a little bout with our old friend Mister Mai 
de Mer. You’ll be all right once you get on your 
feet and get some warm food inside of you. How 
is the head?” 

The mention of food was nauseous, but the re¬ 
mark anent the head acquainted him with a new ill. 
He touched the place where his hair should have 
been, and instead of hair his hand caressed a band¬ 
age. He discovered that beneath the bandage was 
the seat of the throbbing pain that bothered him. 
Also, memory began to stir in the chaos of his 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 81 


mind—head bandaged, street fight, Black Cruiser, 
shots. 

“What—what,” he stuttered. 

“You were shot,” little Billy replied to that in¬ 
terrogatory stare. “The bosun picked you up and 
carried you to the boat, and we brought you aboard 
with us. You w r ere creased. The narrowest squeak 
I ever saw. The bullet just plowed over your 
skull. We thought at first you were gone—frac¬ 
tured skull, you know—but you came out of your 
trance and fell asleep. You have been lying in that 
bunk for about fifteen hours. It is midafternoon 
now, and we have been to sea since midnight.” 

“T-to sea!” gasped Martin. 

The hunchback’s matter-of-fact announcement 
fairly took his breath. The latter’s chuckle became 
more pronounced at Martin’s blank amazement. 

“Yes, my legal friend, you have invaded the 
troublous domains of old King Nep.,” he continued 
genially. “As the bosun remarked this morning, 
when a few playful tons of H 2 0 rolled him along 
the main deck, “ ’Ere we are, swiggle me stiff, safe 
and sound at sea again!’ ” Little Billy struck an 
oratorical pose, and declaimed musically: 

“O, we’re running free with a gale abaft, 

And we’re bound for the End o’ the World!” 

“But—why did you bring—” mumbled Martin. 

“We had to fetch you along,” interrupted Little 
Billy. “If the bosun had left you behind, those 
yellow devils would have finished you, or else the 
police would have nabbed you. The police were 



82 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


at our heels when we made the getaway from the 
wharf, as it was. By Jove! It was for your own 
benefit we shanghaied you—you realize, don’t you, 
that a street fight with guns in a civilized town like 
Frisco, with wounded, perhaps de'ad, men lying 
around, makes a rather serious business? But don’t 
you worry any about the future. Everything is rosy. 
We are safe at sea, and booming along with a gale 
at our backs. The law may have gobbled up Wild 
Bob Carew and his crew—hope it did, but suspect 
my haughty captain squirmed out of it as he usually 
does. We have made our getaway, anyhow.” 

At sea! Disturbing visions were dancing through 
Martin’s mind. At sea! 

It was one thing to stand in an office window, idly 
watching passing ships, and longing to be at sea. 
It was quite another thing to awaken without fore¬ 
knowledge, in a stuffy and careening berth, on a 
strange ship that was plowing through a storm, 
possessed of a wounded head and a gadabout stom¬ 
ach, and be informed casually by a grinning gnome 
that he was fleeing the law—that he had been kid¬ 
naped so he would avoid the consequences of a wild 
and deadly street brawl. 

A man accustomed to rough buffets and fickle for¬ 
tune might well blink his eyes over such a situation. 
To Martin, the clerk, to whose law-abiding existence 
both fights and police had hitherto been strangers, 
the information was more than a shock. It was an 
earthquake. His world was tumbling about his 
ears. 

The jolt galvanized him to action. He sat up in 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 83 


his bunk and swung his legs over the side. For a 
second he had some wild idea of rushing forth, and 
somehow stepping ashore, and back into yesterday. 
Then he steadied himself. 

“But what will I do?” he demanded of the hunch¬ 
back. “Where are you going? I am not a sailor, 
I am a clerk—and my job-” 

“My friend,” said Little Billy, “I think you may 
definitely assume that your connection with the legal 
profession is severed. Your job is close on two hun¬ 
dred miles astern. But as I told you a moment 
since, you need not worry about your future. Why, 
you have already been adopted into the happy fam¬ 
ily—you are already one of the jolly company of 
the brig Cohasset, with equal rights, and an equal 
share. And if we have decent luck with this job 
ahead of us, you will have no cause to grieve at be¬ 
ing yanked out of your berth ashore. It isn’t so 
bad, is it? We know you leave no family behind— 
oh, yes, we know quite a lot about you, Martin 
Blake, we had to look you up—and I think you will 
be blessing us in a day or two for prying you out of 
your rut. You are the right sort. You were never 
cut out for a clerk! By Jove! You should hear 
the bosun tell how you bowled over Carew, himself, 
with your empty gun! You are a nervy one, all 
right. I’ll wager this business ahead of us will be 
more to your liking than the one you leave behind.” 

“What is it?” asked Martin. “Where are you 
going t 

“Not my story—I can’t tell you, now,” answered 
Little Billy. “You’ll find out tonight, after supper. 



84 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


There will be a pow-wow in the cabin, and the Old 
Man and Miss Ruth will enlighten you then.” 

“Miss Ruth!” echoed Martin, thinking for the 
first time of the girl who had innocently got him into 
this mess. “That is the girl! Then we got the 
girl safely?” 

“Oh, yes, she is aboard, and safe enough. She 
dressed your head—neat job of bandaging she does. 
Well, Blake, I’ll have to be about my duties. I’m 
steward, you know. This is my room. You are to 
bunk with me. I would advise you to get up on 
deck if you can manage it. There is no cure for 
seasickness like being on your feet in fresh air. 
Don’t worry about your head—it is only a flesh 
wound, and it will heal in a couple of days. And 
after supper you’ll hear all about it. So long.” 

The door closed behind the sprightly little figure, 
and Martin was left alone. 

Alone, but with thoughts enough for company. 
He sat there with his legs swinging over the side 
of the bunk, nursing his sore head and trying to 
digest the information Little Billy had imparted. 

He was troubled, yet somehow not depressed. 
His coward fears of a few moments ago were gone, 
and he could face the situation now with consider¬ 
able aplomb. Of course, it was disturbing to learn 
that he was probably a fugitive from justice; and 
with his knowledge of the law he could very well 
appreciate the probably serious consequences of last 
night’s affair. Why, there were likely dead men in 
the city morgue as a result, and old Smatt, judging 
himself betrayed by his clerk, might swear him a 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 85 


murderer. He was a vindictive old man, Martin 
knew. And Spulvedo—he knew he had shot Spul- 
vedo; he had seen the man drop. 

Martin felt a qualm at that remembrance—shoot¬ 
ing a man was a new and terrible experience, and 
his conscience had scruples concerning the sanctity 
of human life. If Martin Blake could then have 
seen a few months into the future. . . . 

Yet he had no regrets for the part he had played. 
He had been headstrong, he knew, in so unreservedly 
joining forces with the strange people of this 
strange ship. But what else could he have done 
and retained his self-respect? A man, by George, 
owed it to himself to be willing to fight for a 
woman in distress—especially such a good-looking 
girl as this mysterious Miss Ruth. Little Billy, and 
these people, seemed to be at outs with the police, 
but he knew he was on the right side. 

And so he was one of the jolly company of the 
brig Coliasset! This craft seemed to have been 
fated to enter his life. He recalled how interested 
he had been when the boatswain first mentioned the 
name, last night, in Johnny Feiglebaum’s. Last 
night! Why, it seemed a year ago! “Happy ship,” 
the boatswain had called her, and Little Billy had 
referred to the “happy family.” A queer outfit he 
had fallen in with. Well, at least he would see that 
“blessed, bleedin’ little mate” the boatswain was so 
exercised about. 

Brig Coliasset! What kind of a ship was a brig, 
anyway? He would see. 

Arrived at this conclusion, Martin felt better. 


86 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


He rolled clear of the bunk and balanced himself 
on the swaying floor. He was going to take the 
hunchback’s advice and look over this new home of 
his, and take the tonic prescribed for his peripatetic 
stomach. Already, he felt much better. He even 
contemplated food without disgust. 

He had been undressed, and he discovered his 
clothes hanging on the wall. While he donned them, 
his spirits continued to mount. He was done with 
fright and w r orry. 

Things were not so bad. It was true there was 
no one ashore to grieve at his disappearance, save 
good Mrs. Meagher. But how in the world did 
the hunchback discover that fact? Come what 
might, he was done with his old drab life, done 
with musty legal forms, done with the job he so 
loathed. There was a jubilant tinge to his thoughts. 
Why, he was just where he had so often longed to 
be—“Out There where Things happened!'’ 

That all-pervading screaming that rang in his 
ears—why, that was the wind whistling through the 
rigging, overhead, the storm king’s brazen voice 
that he had so often dreamed of hearing. And 
that disconcerting lurching beneath his feet—why, 
that was the heaving deck he had so lusted to press 
foot upon. 

What matter if it did play havoc with his midriff. 
That would pass; already he w r as feeling fit. Now 
he would go out and get acquainted with his ship¬ 
mates—ah, shipmates! He smacked his lips over 
the word. Already he knew the hunchback and the 
boatswain—fine fellows. And the girl—he had seen 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 87 


her once and would never forget her face. That 
shining mass of hair. . . . 

And Martin laved himself in the basin, spruced 
himself before the little glass, and let himself out 
of the room. 

Martin stepped into the ship’s cabin. He knew 
it was the cabin, because he had often read passages 
descriptive of just such a room. 

There were several doors on either side. They 
led to the berths. There was the curve of the 
ship’s stern in the after wall, portholes, and a divan 
which followed the half-round. Chairs, a large 
table, swinging lamps, a skylight overhead. There 
was the companion ladder, leading to the deck 
above. 

He made for the ladder. At its base he stopped. 
Some one was descending. A hale, white-bearded, 
rosy-cheeked old man came down from the deck. He 
had a serene and smiling countenance. 

Martin waited expectantly, with half-extended 
hand. This must be the “Old Man” of the hunch¬ 
back’s reference. But the old man’s wide-open 
eyes stared over his head, or through him. He 
walked past within a foot of Martin and gave not 
the least indication that he noticed Martin’s pres¬ 
ence. A second later he disappeared through a door 
on the farther side of the room. 

Martin’s hand dropped to his side. He was non¬ 
plused and somewhat piqued. It was unbelievable 
that he had been unseen. Why, the man had passed 
within touching distance and had looked straight at 


88 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


him! If this were the captain of the jolly brig . . . 

However, just now he was eager to reach out¬ 
doors. He mounted the ladder and found himself 
in a box-like hatch. He thrust aside a canvas flap 
and stepped out on deck. 

A blast of cold wind slapped his face and almost 
took his breath for a moment. He was facing aft, 
looking out over the stern of the ship, and his eyes 
beheld a tumbling chaos, a fearsome waste of leap¬ 
ing waters. 

In the foreground of this picture, just across the 
skylight from him, stood the man at the wheel. He 
was an integrant feature of that wild scene, felt 
Martin. In Heaven’s name, what manner of out- 
lander was he? Squat and bulky in oilskins, 
broad-faced, high-cheeked, brown-colored, his fore¬ 
head was tattooed, and ridges of horrible scars dis¬ 
figured both plump cheeks. His eyes were small, 
feral; he gave Martin a fleeting, incurious glance, 
and turned his attention to his work. He stood im¬ 
passive, clutching the wheel-spokes. 

The deck was wet and slippery. The ship lunged 
down the slope of a sea, and Martin slid to leeward. 
He fought his way up-deck again and grasped the 
side of the hatch for support. The mishap had 
turned him about. He now faced forward, and the 
wheelman was forgotten. 

He was on the poop, and he overlooked the length 
of the ship. The brig Cohasset was before his eyes, 
as much of her as was above water. But, as a 
matter of fact, and as he was later informed, he 
did not look upon a brig at all; the Cohasset was a 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 89 


brig only by virtue of sailors’ loose habits of speech. 
She was in truth “a rig what ye rarely see, lad, a 
proper brigantine, a craft what I’ll be swiggled stiff 
if ye can mate ’er anyw’ere for sailing and comfort.” 

But nice distinctions of rig did not bother Martin 
on this, his first, view of his new home. He was 
looking through his landsman eyes. 

He saw, over the break of the poop, a sweep of 
deck that careened till the lee rail dipped, and green 
seas lolloped aboard and swirled, foam-flecked, aft. 
He saw the long jib-boom, now stabbing the leaden 
sky, now plunging into the depths. He saw the pyra¬ 
mid of bellying canvas on the foremast, the great 
foresail, the topsails, and the bare spars above. 

He saw the great boom above his head, and the 
vast expanse of the mainsail, a tremendous canvas, 
even though reefed. He saw the straining, board¬ 
like staysails. He heard the harsh scream of the 
wind aloft, the vibrant thrumming of tautened stays, 
the banging of a block, the crash of boarding seas. 
Grim sounds, and an outlook to daunt a young man 
whose maritime experience consisted of an occasional 
ferry-boat trip. 

Martin was aghast. The ship was a chip in a 
maelstrom, lost, tossed about, sport of those mon¬ 
ster waves. The ticklish game of “carrying on” was 
beyond Martin’s present ken. He was thinking in 
the terms of his favorite literature. He was awe¬ 
struck by the fury of the elements, by the limitless 
expanse of upheaving waters, by the long, white- 
crested seas racing down the wind. He was behold¬ 
ing the raging main! 


90 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Hello, Mr. Blake! Glad to see you about. Nice 
little puff we have had for a starting boost—about 
blown out, I’m afraid.” 

The words, rich, throaty, tinged with amusement, 
came down the wind to Martin’s ears. Martin 
turned his head. Opposite him on the sloping 
weather deck, regarding him with a smile, stood the 
girl—“Miss Ruth.” 

Martin stared. Had he heard aright, “little 
puff”? This battle of wind and wave a little puff! 
And she who regarded this cataclysmic scene with 
such contempt—that brave and confident figure, 
swaying so easily to the deck’s reel, that bizarre 
costume, that sparkling face—was she the distressed 
maid he had fought for the night before? Yes, 
he remembered that vivid, expressive face. By 
George, she was a beauty! 

She was, without doubt, an uncommonly pretty 
girl, and the strange costume she wore accentuated, 
rather than hid, her charms. A serge skirt came 
but little below her knees, and beneath it Martin 
saw feet and ankles encased in stout, trim, absurdly 
small sea boots. 

She wore a sailor’s pea-coat, open at the front and 
disclosing a guernsey covering a swelling bosom. 
The great mass of dark hair Martin remembered 
so well was knotted and piled atop her head, and a 
blue, peaked cap perched saucily aslant the mass. 

Her face was alive, vivacious. The eyes were 
large, dark, bright, the lips were ripe and smiling, 
the cheeks weather-bronzed but not swarthy. 

Martin drank in the details of her appearance 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG CGHASSET 91 

greedily, and they left him tongue-tied. Yes, by 
George, she was a beauty! Her carriage was regal, 
and there was about her an air of competence, of 
authority. She was not disturbed by her surround¬ 
ings—she laughed. What had she called the storm? 
A puff! She seemed, by George, like a sprite of 
the storm! Like the steersman yonder, she seemed 
to belong to this setting of laboring ship and tumul¬ 
tuous sea. Here she came toward him with hand 
outstretched. 

^She walked easily, body inclining gracefully to the 
||)’s whims, disdaining aid of skylight or hatch, 
ivlartin clung to the hatch with one hand and ex¬ 
tended his other. 

He thrilled to the warm clasp she gave him. He 
glowed at the friendly light in her eyes. She was 
tall, taller than she looked at a distance, almost 
as tall as he. She did not seem to raise her voice, 
yet her words reached him distinctly above the howl 
-of the w r ind. He had to shout his answers. 

“How does your head feel?” were her first words. 
He answered reassuringly, and remembered of a 
sudden that it was those brown, shapely fingers that 
wrapped the bandage. 

“I am Ruth Le Moyne,” she continued. “I would 
like to thank you for what you did last night. You 
were splendid! Little Billy has told us how 
promptly you volunteered your aid, when you knew 
it meant danger to yourself. It was brave of— 
oh, words are so tame! But you can guess what it 

meant to me—I, a girl, and Carew-” 

Yes, Martin knew. He hastened to shout that 



92 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


he knew. The girl’s attitude made him uncomfort¬ 
able. He shouted that he knew all about it, and 
that it was nothing, really nothing. He would like 
to do it again; he was really glad to be at sea on 
such a jolly little ship; the bump on his head was 
nothing; no, his seasickness was past; what he had 
done was nothing, by George, not worth mentioning! 

So he said, while he held Ruth Le Moyne’s hand 
and looked into her eyes—dark brown eyes, he 
noticed, not bright now, but misty with gratitude—- 
and he meant what he said. 

“Of course, you feel strange and lost,” she said. 
“But you will get quickly used to ship life, and I 
know you will like it. You know, we call ourselves 
the ‘happy family.’ You are one of us, now. You 
share in the venture, and if we are successful—but 
you will hear all about it after awhile.” 

She broke off abruptly, looked aloft, then turned 
to the helmsman. 

“Watch your eye, Oomak!” she called. 

The savage-appearing steersman inclined his head 
submissively and pulled upon the wheel spokes. 
Martin stared, surprised. What had this entrancing 
bundle of femininity to do with the steering of the 
ship ? 

She turned to him again. 

“We are losing the breeze,” she said regretfully. 
“I suppose, though, we shouldn’t complain. We 
have gained a good offing.” 

Losing the breeze! 

“Do you mean—is the storm passing?” asked 
Martin. 


THE MATE OF THE BRIG COHASSET 93 


“The storm?” She stared, then smiled. “Oh, 
yes—see!” 

Martin looked up. Rifts of blue sky showed in 
the leaden blanket overhead. But the sea seemed 
as wild, his ear sensed no decrease in the wind’s 
howl. This girl seemed very sure. 

“I’ll set the t’gal’n’s’l and shake a reef out of 
the mains’l at eight bells,” she continued. “Just a 
few moments of the time, now. You know, we are 
cracking on.” 

“Oh—of course,” said Martin blankly. He didn’t 
know just what she was talking about, but the salty 
words rolled off her tongue very glibly. “W-what 
are you on the ship, Miss-” 

“Oh, I forgot that you didn’t know,” laughed the 
girl. “Why, I am the mate.” 

The mate! This radiant, laughing creature the 
mate! This slip of a girl! Oh, ho, no wonder the 
boatswain wept and spoke of posies, and the hunch¬ 
back waxed poetical in description. This girl . . . 

Martin suddenly gulped. He remembered the 
prim, mutton-chopped little man of his imaginings, 
the gentle, senile little mate of the brig Cohasset. 
He winced and blushed at the recollection of his idle 
thoughts. But a woman for mate! Why—and he 
stared about him—this girl must be in practical com¬ 
mand of the ship. His life, the lives of those oilskin- 
clad figures he saw lounging forward, all the lives 
on the ship, were in her hand, dependent upon ner 
skill. Mate! He had never heard- 

“You seem rather surprised,” she rallied him. 
“I see disapproval in your face. But I assure you, 




94 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

I am a very good mate. I even have a master’s 
ticket.” 

Martin stuttered in his confusion and tangled him¬ 
self in a web of denial. Then came a blessed inter¬ 
ruption. Up through the companion hatch, to which 
he still clung, arose a white head, and then the man. 
It was the serene-faced old man who had passed 
him by in the cabin. 

“The captain!” announced the beskirted mate. 
“Captain, here is Mr. Blake—Mr. Blake, meet 
Captain Dabney.” 

The old man stepped out on deck and turned his 
head about uncertainly. His hand wandered an in¬ 
stant, and then met Martin’s. His face wreathed 
in a cordial smile. 

“Glad to meet you, lad,” he said. 

Martin found himself without words. He was 
fascinated by the captain’s eyes, those serene, blue 
eyes that stared at him without seeing him. Cap¬ 
tain Dabney was blind. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AROUND THE CABIN TABLE 

M ARTIN lounged upon the divan, on edge 
with impatience, his attention divided be¬ 
tween the faces of his companions and the 
face of the clock hangng on the forward bulkhead. 
The two big lamps, upright in their gimbals, shed 
a warm, bright glow about the cabin. 

The supper remains had disappeared. Little 
Billy was completing his steward’s task by spreading 
over the table the damask cloth that graced the 
board between meals. The blind captain sat in a 
chair, quietly puffing a pipe. The clock showed a 
quarter of eight. At eight o’clock, eight bells would 
strike overhead, the bosun w r ould relieve the mate, 
the mate would come below, and then his burning 
curiosity was promised satisfaction. 

The mate! Martin’s thoughts buzzed around 
the girl like a moth around a candle-flame. Not 
yet could he reconcile Ruth with her duties as ship’s 
first officer. It seemed so absurd. She and the 
giant bosun divided the watches between them. 
What an ill-assorted brace! And she was the su¬ 
perior. She was the right arm, and the eyes of the 
old blind man. Oh, she was a proper sailor, right 
enough! 

Yes, she had set the t’gal’n’s’l and shaken the reef 

95 



96 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

out of the mains’l. He knew now what she had 
meant. 

What a superb figure she was, standing there on 
the windswept deck, singing her orders. Yes, sing¬ 
ing—that full, contralto halloo of hers was naught 
but a song. And how the wild men of the crew 
had leaped to obey! Wild men—he had seen but 
few white faces forward—wild islanders of some 
sort. 

He would never forget his first dogwatch, spent 
by the boatswain’s side, pacing the poop deck. How 
niftily he had gained his sea legs! He had easily 
learned the trick of throwing his body to meet the 
ship. He had learned lots, besides, from the deep 
voice rumbling in his ear. 

“A smart little ’ooker lad, and a smart crew, all 
married to ’er. Swiggle me! Ain’t many ’er size 
can show ’er a pair o’ ’eels. Ay, small, but big 
enough for ’er work—’undred thirty ton. Great 
trader, the Old Man is. ‘Square Jim’ Dabney, ’e’s 
called, from the Arctic to ’Obart Town, and across 
Asia side; except them Rooshuns—they call ’im the 
‘Slippery Devil.’ Says I, fine ’auls we’ve ’ad, seal 
and fur, from them Rooshuns. 

“Blast o’ dynamite, lad, took the Old Man’s sight. 
Fine ’aul this time if we ’ave luck. Swiggle me stiff, 
it’ll set us up ashore for bleeding toffs! . . . ye’ll 
’ear about it later. . . . Ay, that’s the royal, lad— 
topmost spar—be shakin’ that rag out afore 
long. . . . Ay, mate, and a proper fine mate she is, 
bless ’er bleeding little ’eart! Grew up at sea— 
proper shark for navigation—Old Man never ’ad 


AROUND THE CABIN TABLE 


97 


’er ’ead for figures. . . . See—them’s the ’alyards, 
lad! . . . Ay, prime sailorman, she is, too. . . 

Such was the burden of the boatswain’s discourse 
throughout the dogwatch. A shark for navigation, 
and a prime sailorman, bless her bleeding little 
heart! Oh, she was the apple of the boatswain’s 
eye! And of other eyes. And the boatswain had 
called her “mister” when he came on deck-- 

“ ’Ow's she going, mister?” 

She grew up at sea! So the boatswain had said. 
Had been able to “take a sight at ten year, lad, an’ 
work out a position, which, swiggle me, I can’t do 
for all my size and years!” Could even match the 
red giant at sailorly work with ropes and wires. 

What a strange upbringing for a girl! He had 
gathered that Ruth was the granddaughter of the 
blind man, Square Jim Dabney, that she was or¬ 
phaned; that this cockleshell of a vessel had been 
her home since babyhood. Bred of seamen and to 
the sea. No wonder she paced the deck so confi¬ 
dently, and flung a laugh into the East Wind’s very 
face! 

She was of the breed of the silent old man who 
bore his affliction so steadfastly. Martin studied 
the patient figure of the blind man with a new in¬ 
terest. What a pity, that hale, active man caged 
in darkness! What misery, what despair, thought 
he, might lurk behind those fine, unmarred eyes! 
Yet the face was happy enough. Indeed, it was 
serene, unscarred by impatience or passion; the face 
of one who awaits Fate fearlessly. Martin had dif- 



98 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


ficulty in connecting that kindly and peaceful figure 
with the “Old Man” of the boatswain’s talk. 

What stirring adventures the boatswain’s casual 
words had hinted at! In what a bald, matter-of- 
fact manner had the Cohasset’s various activities 
been mentioned! Pearl shell and island trade; “a 
bit o’ filibustering now and then,” to Mexico and 
South America; seal and fur poaching on the Si¬ 
berian coast, in open defiance of the Czar’s man¬ 
dates ! 

Square Jim Dabney, might be the captain’s name 
from the Arctic to Hobart Town, but some of the 
exploits the boatswain had boasted of suggested 
“Freebooter Jim” Dabney to Martin’s mind. How 
about that affair where the captain had lost his eye¬ 
sight? Raiding a gold-bearing reef in the Louisiades 
with dynamite, the boatswain had said, in derisive 
revolt against the Australian mining laws. 

It had happened but a few months before, and 
a premature explosion of a dynamite charge had 
been the unusual fruit of the raid—unusual because 
when the boatswain and others had rushed to re¬ 
cover what they thought w r as their captain’s mangled 
body, they discovered their leader unmarred by the 
blast but stone-blind from the shock. An injured 
optic nerve, the San Francisco specialists had said, 
a hopeless case. 

Yet even permanent blindness did not place a 
period to the career of this venerable Pacific free¬ 
lance. Was he not engaged in some wild venture 
even now? Some mysterious business that had be¬ 
gun with bloodshed, and would end—how? What 


AROUND THE CABIN TABLE 


99 


had Little Billy said? “Bound for the End o’ the 
World!” And what, pray, would they find at the 
End o’ the World? 

Well, he didn’t care what they found there, but 
he was very glad to be able to voyage to the world’s 
end with this company. He was glad he had been 
pitched head foremost into the affair, little as he yet 
understood of it all; he was glad to be at sea and 
shipmates with the “happy family.” No longer was 
he a despised quill-pusher. 

Just what he was at present, Martin could not 
decide, but he was determined to become a valued 
and accomplished member of this adventuring house¬ 
hold. He was determined—like the moth to the 
flame, Martin’s thoughts came back to the girl—he 
was determined to win the respect of Ruth Le 
Moyne, to match her self-reliance. He would show 
her, by George, that he did not lack for courage; 
that stranger though he was to sea life, he could 
acquit himself creditably in the face of any danger 
he might encounter in his new environment! 

The boatswain came out of his room and paused 
at the foot of the companion-ladder to fill his pipe. 
He looked like some huge, red-shagged bear, 
thought Martin, a well-fed, contented bear. The 
hands of the clock were almost on the hour—in a 
moment the bosun would be on deck, and Ruth 
would come below. Then . . . 

The boatswain’s enormous sea boots disappeared 
through the hatch, and a moment later eight bells 
struck overhead. 

Martin sat up expectantly. Little Billy grinned 


100 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


at him from across the room. Confound the fellow! 
He had insisted on treating Martin as an invalid 
during the supper, had been absurdly solicitous about 
the wounded head and the turbulent stomach, when 
Martin had forgotten the existence of both; he had 
persisted in interrupting when Martin wanted to 
talk to Ruth. Here she came! 

A light step, a little boot poked into view, and 
Ruth bustled down the ladder. By George, she was 
a beauty! 

“Due west—setting more canvas,” she announced 
briskly to Captain Dabney. 

The latter turned his sightless eyes on the rosy 
face that bent above him; the serene, white-bearded 
face was suddenly beautiful with its welcoming smile. 
The blind man’s hand reached out and gently 
stroked the girl’s arm. Martin saw there was com¬ 
plete agreement between the two. 

Ruth divested herself of the heavy pea-coat she 
wore, tossed it upon the divan, and drew up a chair 
beside the captain’s. 

“Well, let us commence at once with our tales 
of woe, and our council of war,” said she laughingly. 
“I am quite sure Mr. Blake is perishing with curi¬ 
osity. I know I would be in his place.” 

It was an odd assortment that gathered about 
the table—a girl, a blind man, a hunchback, and a 
clerk. A strange company for a ship’s cabin, at sea. 

But the incongruity escaped Martin. For the 
moment he had eyes but for the figure opposite him, 
for the trim figure revealed by the tight-fitting 
guernsey, for the vivid face that bloomed above. 


AROUND THE CABIN TABLE 


101 


Ruth bore his gaze with composure; she even smiled 
at him, with a twinkle in her eye. Martin blushed. 

Little Billy had brought to the table a small, 
locked cash-box, made of light steel. He set it 
carefully in the center of the table, and then took 
a seat by Martin’s side. 

Ruth spoke. 

“First of all, we had better tell the whole story 
of the Good Luck, and the code, and the log, to Mr. 
Blake. It is unfair to keep him in darkness any 
longer.” 

“Yes—that will be best,” said Captain Dabney. 
“I will tell you about finding the w r reck. But Billy 
must finish the tale—he is the more used to yarn¬ 
spinning. Billy, have you the box there?” 

“Yes—here,” answered the hunchback. 

He rapped the cash-box with his fingers, and the 
captain nodded at the metallic sound. Then Little 
Billy drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the 
box. He threw an envelope out upon the table. 

Martin blinked. He knew that plain wrapper. 
Yesterday afternoon, old Smatt had handed him 
that envelope, and last night at the Black Cruiser 
he, himself, had delivered it to Captain Carew. 
Now, it was here before his eyes! 

Little Billy chuckled at his amazement. Even 
Ruth smiled at him. 

“Hello! Our friend seems to recognize Exhibit 
A,” bantered the hunchback. “Well, Blake, without 
waiting for counsel’s advice, I will admit that you 
probably have seen this very envelope before. But 


102 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

I bet the contents are stranger to your popping 
eyes!” 

With that, Little Billy spread the envelope’s con¬ 
tents upon the table. 

Martin saw a plain sheet of paper, written upon 
by Smatt’s angular hand, and a strip of some kind 
of animal skin, or gut, about 4x5 inches in size, and 
of a leprous-white color. The skin was covered 
with what he took to be a multitude of faint, red 
scratches, but upon a second look he saw that the 
scratches were figures. 

Ruth indicated the skin with her finger. 

“The secret of Fire Mountain,” she said. 

“Yes, the secret of Fire Mountain,” echoed Little 
Billy. “And this—” he pointed to the paper con¬ 
taining Smatt’s writing—“is the secret kindly bared 
for us by that genial gray vulture of the law, Mr. 
Smatt. The envelope also contained Wild Bob’s 
clearance papers—cleared for Papeete, the slick 
devil—but we presented them to the gulls off the 
Farallones. They can go a-voyaging on them if 
they wish.” 

“A little thing like a clearance will not keep Bob 
Carew in port,” interposed Captain Dabney. 

“No, I suppose not,” replied Little Billy, his face 
sobering. “He is on our heels now, I dare say. 
However, we have had the satisfaction of putting 
a good one over on him.” 

“But—but what—” stammered Martin, his eyes 
still upon the envelope; the others’ reference were 
Greek to him. 

“So friend Blake is puzzled!” exclaimed the 


AROUND THE CABIN TABLE 


103 


hunchback, his light humor returned. “Are you not 
beginning to see light, Blake? Observe—” he 
tapped the skin with a finger—“this cryptic skin con¬ 
tains the secret of Fire Mountain. Ichi, the wily 
one, abstracts it from its discoverers and rightful 
owners and carries it to that fine legal rascal who 
employed you; fine legal rascal gives it to clerk to 
deliver to Wild Bob Carew. Wild Bob Carew has 
rakish schooner ready to scoot for loot, but needs 
code translation, and latitude and longitude; friend 
Blake' carries code in pocket, friend Mate carries 
position in head—so, there is plot and counterplot; 
gumshoeing and shanghaiing. You, my friend, at 
the center of one storm circle. Devious and devilish 
machinations assail you—at first with failure, for 
the mate lost her wits, and the boatswain lost his 
balance. But Little Billy Corcoran, King of Leger¬ 
demain, succeeds. With his prattling tongue and 
dexterous fingers he effects the substitution, and the 
lost is regained.” 

Little Billy finished triumphantly, and beamed at 
Martin's blank face. 

“Substitution!” exclaimed Martin. 

“Yes. Must I place a tack upon your head, and 
smite it with a hammer, in order to drive the point 
home? Do you not comprehend? Little Billy sat 
upon a fire hydrant and very carefully picked a 
young gentleman’s pocket.” 

“Why, then it was you placed the envelope con¬ 
taining the blank paper—” commenced Martin. 

“Exactly. Your intuition is remarkable,'’ stated 
the hunchback. “But—please—do not look so 


104 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


shocked. I assure you I do not commonly pick 
young gentlemen’s pockets. It is a vulgar pastime, 
and I am an accomplished villain. Why, once upon 
a time, I wrote an epic poem. What mere larceny 
can compare with that fell deed! Besides, this par¬ 
ticular outrage upon the sanctity of your overcoat 
was not without justification. Observe: Ichi, the 
beast, picks Little Billy’s pocket, and the way to Fire 
Mountain is lost; Little Billy picks Mr. Blake’s 
pocket, and the way to Fire Mountain is regained! 
Is it not beautifully simple?” 

“Way to Fire Mountain! But I don’t under¬ 
stand,” answered Martin. 

“Oh, don’t listen to him,” interrupted Ruth. 
“Billy, you shut up ! You will have plenty of chance 
to talk after awhile. Captain, you tell about finding 
the Good Luck.” 

“Squashed!” sighed Little Billy. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE MOUNTAIN IN THE SMOKY SEA 

“TT won't take me long to tell my part of 
the story,” commenced Captain Dabney. “It 
happened last Summer, up in Bering Sea. 
I dodged out of the fog-bank, where I had been 
playing hide-and-seek with the Russian gunboat, and 
saw the sun for the first time in a week, and at the 
same time clapped eyes upon Fire Mountain. Ay, 
I had my eyes then—good eyes, too.” 

The captain drew his hand across his sightless 
eyes. He had spoken in the inflectionless voice of 
the blind, but Martin sensed a note of bitterness, of 
revolt, in his voice. Ruth patted his shoulder com¬ 
fortingly, and the old man continued. 

“Fire Mountain, lad, is a volcano. It is a vol¬ 
canic island sticking up out of the water several 
hundred miles off the Kamchatka coast. But I 
guess I had better tell you how we came to be in 
Bering last Summer. 

“You know, lad, I am a trader. Fur is a mighty 
profitable trade, if you can get enough fur, and at 
reasonable prices, and for the last ten years I have 
traded every Summer along the Kamchatka and 
Anadyr coasts. I have left the seal rookeries alone 
—they are too well guarded nowadays—and traded 
with the natives for their furs. 

105 



106 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“The Russian Chartered Company has a monop¬ 
oly of the fur trade in Eastern Siberia, and, like 
any monopoly, they gouge. They insist upon about 
live thousand per cent, profit in their dealings with 
the natives. Naturally, the natives are more than 
anxious to trade with a free-lance. The Russian 
Government keeps a little tin-pot gun-boat cruising 
up and down to prevent poaching, and if you are 
caught it means the mines for all hands. But, Lord! 
Any live Yankee can dodge those lubbers. They 
have chased me every year for ten years, and I have 
won free every time. 

“The last chase they gave me was last August. 
We sighted the Russian just as we were coming out 
of a little bay below Cape Ozerni, where I had had 
business with a tribe of Koriaks. There was a nice 
little offshore, ten-knot breeze blowing, and we 
cracked on and made for the fog-bank. 

“The fog, you know, lad, is the poachers’ salva¬ 
tion in the Bering. In the Summer, the fog lies over 
the water in banks, either low and thick, or high 
and thin, caused by the Japan current meeting the 
Arctic streams. They call those waters the Smoky 
Seas, sometimes. You don’t see the sun for weeks 
on end. 

“This was a low-lying and thick bank we made 
for, and we slipped into it with the Russian about 
three mile astern of us. We were safe enough then, 
though he entered after us. We played a game of 
‘catch me, Susie,’ for three days. It was funny. 
We had enough wind to drive us at about four 
knots; the fog was so thick you couldn’t see half a 


THE MOUNTAIN IN THE SMOKY SEA 107 

cable-length in any direction; and the bank seemed 
of limitless width. 

“We could hear the gunboat's screw miles away, 
but he couldn’t hear us—though we’d give him a blat 
out of our patent fog-horn every now and then, 
just to let him know we were still around. Three 
days he rampaged around, looking for us, and then 
he gave us up for a bad job. The second morning 
after, we slipped out of the western rim of the bank 
and found ourselves in sunshine, and almost on top 
of as wicked a looking saw-tooth reef as I ever want 
to see. 

“The reef encircled a mountain that stuck straight 
up out of the sea for about two thousand feet. It 
was an old volcano—still smoking. We sailed 
around it, and on the south side discovered a break 
in the reef, a little bay bitten narrowly into the 
mountain, and a beach. 

“Well, volcanic islands are common in Bering 
Sea. But we were interested in this one, both be¬ 
cause of its strange appearance, and because it was 
unmarked on the chart. That last was not so 
unusual, though. The charts of that section of 
Bering are mostly guesswork. 

“We got a boat over the side, and Little Billy 
and I were pulled ashore, while Ruth kept the brig 
standing by. I wanted to make a closer inspection 
of the place, and the landing seemed good. 

“The break in the reef was quite wide, and we 
sounded and found a channel, and good holding 
ground inside. We landed on a shell and black- 


103 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


sand beach, about forty yards wide at high water, 
and a couple of hundred long. 

“The mountain stuck up sheer in front of us and 
on either side of the bay. It was full of caves— 
riddled like a sponge. A strange place ! The moun¬ 
tain sides w r ere overlaid for an unknown depth 
with black lava, from ancient eruptions; and this 
lava had hardened and twisted into all manner of 
shapes, all the way to the still smoking crater. That 
is what formed the caves—and formed also, tremen¬ 
dous columns, and castles, and animals’ heads. 

“On the level with the little beach were several 
cave openings. One was a jutting rock that looked 
just like an elephant’s head carved out of the black 
lava, and beneath the outflung trunk, was a black 
opening leading into the mountain. There was the 
sound of running water from within, and the wind 
howled like a sabbath of witches. We didn’t investi¬ 
gate—no torches. At one end of the beach we 
found three springs of hot water squirting out of 
the rock—tasted sulphurous. 

“The beach contained quite a bit of driftage, and 
some old timbers we knew were from a wreck. 
Then, ’way up on the beach, and behind some big 
bowlders, we discovered the ribs of a whaleboat, a 
rust-eaten sheath-knife, and a board that contained 
part of a ship’s name. The lettering was almost 
effaced; we made out the letters LUC— and be¬ 
neath it the word, BEDFORD. 

“Well, the discovery of that wreckage told us 
that we weren’t the first to visit the place. The 
word ‘Bedford’ was a good clew—it meant that a 


THE MOUNTAIN IN THE SMOKY SEA 109 


New Bedford whaleship had been there at some 
time; and the wreckage meant that she had probably 
been wrecked upon the reef. There was nothing 
else to be found, though we searched for evidences 
of castaways. But the wreck had happened a good 
many years ago, we could tell from the appearance 
of the whaleboat’s remains, and if there had been 
any castaways, all signs of them had disappeared. 

“We snooped around a little bit longer, felt a 
baby earthquake, and then went back aboard the 
ship. I marked the location on the chart, and we 
squared away for the Kamchatka coast. An hour 
later, the fog shut the smoking mountain from our 
view and from my mind until Little Billy made his 
discovery in Honolulu a few months ago. 

“Now, Billy, you commence—it is your yarn from 
now on!” 

The captain heaved a contented sigh, settled him¬ 
self into a listening attitude, and turned his blind 
face to the hunchback. 


CHAPTER X 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 

“ \ /T Y ^ urn t0 ta lk?” exclaimed the lively 
%/ 1 hunchback. “Fine! Talking is my favor¬ 
ite sport. But before I commence, I will 
show friend Blake, here, Exhibit B.” 

He reached into the cash-box and drew out a little 
book. Martin observed that it was apparently a 
pocket notebook, a cheap, dog-eared thing with 
cracked cardboard covers. Little Billy held it up 
before Martin’s eyes. 

“This is Exhibit B,” he continued. “Read this, 
on the fly-leaf!” 

Martin leaned closer and saw written in faded 
ink on the fly-leaf the inscription, 

John Winters, 

His Log. 

Bark Good Luck of New Bedford. 

1889 . 

No. 2 . 

“Ah, I see your mind is leaping to conclusions!” 
went on Little Billy, as surmise and understanding 
flitted across Martin’s face. “And correct conclu¬ 
sions, I have no doubt. But before I confirm your 
suspicions, by reading excerpts from John Winters’s 


no 



THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


111 


Log, I had better tell you how this little book came 
into our possession. 

“So then, let us jump from Bering Sea to Hono¬ 
lulu, and from August to January. My narrative 
commences with the night I spent in Kim Chee’s 
Chamber of Horrors, while recovering from my 
semi-annual drunk. 

“Oh, don’t try to shield me—” as Ruth attempted 
to interpose—“Blake may as well be made 
acquainted with my failing. He would find out 
anyway.” 

Martin was taken aback by the violent inter¬ 
jection. A grim cloud rested for a moment on the 
hunchback’s sunny face, and the man looked suddenly 
aged. Martin saw that Ruth’s face was soft with 
sympathy. But Little Billy’s next words were en¬ 
lightening. 

“Perhaps I could justly pass the buck to my be- 
gettors,” he said. “I came into the world handi¬ 
capped—a crooked back, and a camel’s desire and 
capacity for liquids—alcoholic liquids. I am a pe¬ 
riodical drunkard. Every six months, or so, I am 
constrained by the imp within me to saturate myself 
with spirits and wallow in the gutter, like a pig in 
a sty.” 

“Oh, don’t believe him—it is not so bad as that I” 
cried Ruth. 

“It is indeed,” asserted Little Billy. “As witness 
this time, when I fought the ‘willies’ in Kim Chee’s 
rubbish room. It must be admitted, though, that 
this particular spree had a fruitful ending, for it was 


112 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


in Kim Chee’s that I discovered the secret of Fire 
Mountain. It was this way: 

“When we came down from the Bering in Sep¬ 
tember, we sold our furs to a Jap syndicate in 
Hakodate. The captain has dealt regularly with 
that Jap firm—they pay good prices, and ask few 
questions. Then we left Hakodate on our Winter 
trip—captain had the idea that he might run across 
something worth while in the neighborhood of 
Torres Straits. But, let me mention in passing, be¬ 
fore we sailed we shipped a cook. He was a Jap 
named Ichi, an affable little man who couldn’t speak 
very good English, who seemed rather dull-witted 
for his race. More of him, later on. 

“Down South we had the accident, and the cap¬ 
tain’s eyes were injured. We made a record passage 
to Honolulu, arrived there the first week in January, 
and the captain went ashore to the hospital. The 
bosun and I snugged down everything on board, and 
then I succumbed to my habit. I went ashore and 
tried to place Honolulu in the dry column by swal¬ 
lowing all the whisky in town. I suppose I had a 
glorious time—I don’t remember much about it. 
But about a week later I came to one evening in 
Kim Chee’s place, with a dollar and five cents in my 
pocket, a blazing stomach, and a troupe of goblins 
affixed to my person as a retinue. 

“Kim Chee is the oldest, most wrinkled-up China¬ 
man in the world. He has had that drinking den 
in Honolulu for forty years—ran it in the old days 
when the King and the Opium Ring governed 
Hawaii. It has always been a sailor resort; in the 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


113 


old days it was a whalemen’s rendezvous. Fine old 
gentleman, Kim Chee. 

“I couldn’t drink any more, and I was jumpy. 
So Kim Chee ushered me into his Chamber of 
Horrors. The Chamber of Horrors is an institu¬ 
tion at Kim’s place. It is a rubbish room, filled with 
the junk the old Chinaman has collected during a 
lifetime, and whenever one of his patrons gets the 
horrors from imbibing his bottled dynamite, Kim 
chucks him into this room to die or get over it as 
the Fates decree. 

“So I found myself in this room, with an old 
lantern for light. I was in a bad way. I was seeing 
things. Not alligators or monkeys, such as the con¬ 
ventional drunk is supposed to see, but Things, face¬ 
less formless Things who brushed against me and 
leered at me out of the corners. XJrrgh! The mem¬ 
ory makes me quake. 

“I was afraid of losing control of myself, and to 
keep myself occupied, and my tormentors in the 
background, I commenced to paw over the junk pile. 
I was searching for something to read. 

“Well, there was an assortment in that room that 
would have gladdened the heart of any collector— 
native weapons from all the islands of the Pacific, 
carved whalebone from the North, knickknacks from 
wherenot, everything that a couple of generations 
of sailormen could leave behind them. There were 
sea-chests and sea-bags that belonged to men who, 
I doubt not, were drowned before I was born. But 
nowhere did I find what I sought—something to 
read. 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


114 

“I was about to give up the search when I picked 
up a small package, oilskin-wrapped and securely 
tied with marlin. It had lain in that corner for a 
long, long time. It was covered with dust, and the 
oilskin was brittle dry. The package felt like a 
book. I opened it, and found I had John Winters’s 
diary in my hand. 

“I read that inscription on the fly-leaf, but I must 
confess that I didn't think of Fire Mountain at the 
moment. That came later. But I was interested 
—a sailor’s private log always interests a man who 
knows the sea. I sat down on one of the old chests, 
drew the lantern close and commenced to read. And 
as I read, I forgot my ills entirely. 

“Now, I’ll read you portions of this little book. 
Afterward, if you wish, Blake, you may read it 
through yourself. It is worth while—the record of 
a whaling voyage. But just now I will confine my¬ 
self to the parts that directly affect us. Queer 
thought, isn’t it, that the words this chap wrote a 
quarter of a century ago, whose face none of us has 
ever seen, who is also twenty-five years dead, should 
affect our several destinies? Fate is a strange jade! 

“But first, a word about the author of this log. 
This John Winters was the second mate of the 
whaling bark Good Luck of New Bedford, one 
gleans from reading the book. The inscription on 
the fly-leaf mentions the date, 1889, also the figure 
‘No. 2.’ The number two means that this is the 
second log on the voyage. Research through some 
old ‘Marine Bulletins’ the captain owns told us that 
the whaleship Good Luck left New Bedford on her 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


115 


last voyage in the year 1887, and that she refitted in 
Honolulu in the Fall of 1889, reported missing, with 
all hands, two years later. Winters’s log commences 
with the departure of the ship from Honolulu in 
November, ’89. 

u The first entry that interests us is made several 
months later, on March 23rd, 1890. Position given 
as 158° E. 9 0 , 18' N. That places the Good Luck 
somewhere in the Carolines, on the sperm whale 
grounds. It goes: 

This day Westphal fell from the fore rigging and broke 
his arm. Still no sign of fish. The Old Man is in a 
bad temper because of our poor luck, and he is talking of 
going north already. Mr. Garboy says there is a Jonah 
aboard. I think he is the Jonah. Westphal is a Dutch 
lubber. 

“I read this entry mainly to acquaint you with 
John Winters,” continued Little Billy. “You see, 
this was his private journal, and he was given to ex¬ 
pressing his true feelings concerning his shipmates. 
This Mr. Garboy he mentions was the chief mate 
of the Good Luck. The next entry I have marked 
is dated March 26th, and they are still on the 
Caroline grounds. 

This day I did cover myself with glory, and did take 
Garboy down a peg. This morning we raised fish, a big 
school of cachalot, about three mile to leeward. We lowered 
four boats. I had Silva for harpooner, the best man on the 
ship. The mate had Lord Joe, the Jamaica nigger. 

Murphy and Costa bore south to head the school, and 


116 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Garboy and I bore straight for them. Raced to see who 
would first back, and I won. Backed a big bull, and Silva 
gave him the iron deep. He flurried without sounding, and 
I did not have to lance. Garboy backed his whale and Lord 
Joe made a poor cast, and they lost the fish. I backed a 
cow, and made fast. She sounded, but we overhauled at 
her first blow, and I lanced. Short flurry. Two fish in 
less than hour! 

Garboy went for a big bull. He had put Lord Joe at 
the sweep, and was going to harpoon himself. He backed, 
and made a fine cast. But the fish, instead of sounding, 
turned on their boat, and took it in his mouth. They all 
spilled clear except Lord Joe; the poor nigger was caught. 
Then the fish sounded, and made off with a tub of line. I 
picked up Garboy and his crew, all except Lord Joe— 
the nigger was gone—and I made fast to the wreckage. 
Garboy was wild. I never heard better swearing. 

Costa and Murphy both made a kill, making four fish. 
And Costa picked up a lump of amber grease near his kill. 
Captain Peabody was very pleased with my work, but he 
dug into old Garboy. The mate squirmed, and it tickled 
me, because he has bragged so much about his record. He 
damned Lord Joe mightily, but Lord Joe don’t mind, he is 
with Davy Jones. The ambergrease weighs twenty-five 
pounds. A fine day’s work! 

“There you are, ‘a fine day’s work,’ and the 
pestiferous Mr. Garboy taken down a peg. I read 
the entire entry, but the part that really concerns 
us, is the part about the ambergris they picked up. 
Tell me, Blake, do you know anything about 
ambergris?” 

“No, never heard of the stuff,” answered Martin. 
“Then we will have to digress a moment, while 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


117 


I attend to your neglected education,” said Little 
Billy. “Because, from tonight, you will think of 
ambergris by day, and dream of it by night—amber¬ 
gris in kegs, oodles of it! I don’t suppose your legal 
training acquainted you with the technical details of 
the perfume industry?” 

“No, I must plead ignorance,” conceded Martin. 

“Then pay attention,” admonished Little Billy. 
“Ambergris, my friend, is the stuff John Winters 
calls ambergrease, like the good whaleman he was. 
It is a waxy substance, very light weight, that forms 
inside of a sperm whale, and which friend whale 
belches forth when he gets the colic from feasting 
too heartily upon squid. Squid, otherwise cuttle¬ 
fish, is a horrid monster, all arms and beak, which 
the cachalot considers a most dainty tidbit. Scien¬ 
tific sharks disagree as to the exact process that 
forms ambergris, but they all agree that it comes 
from an overindulgence in squid. Ambergris is very 
rarely obtained, especially nowadays when the whal¬ 
ing industry is almost dead, and it is actually worth 
double its weight in gold. 

“It is used as a base in the manufacture of the 
finest perfumes. It is the best perfume base obtain¬ 
able—it has the virtue of making the odor super¬ 
fine and enduring. The demand for it is insistent, 
and unsatisfied—doubly insistent at the present 
time, for the supply of the best substitute for am¬ 
bergris, the sac of the Himalayan musk deer, has 
also been steadily waning, and has now almost been 
dried up by the European War. Today there is 
an almost unlimited market for ambergris, and the 



118 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


lucky seller can command his own price. The stuff 
is precious. We looked up prices in Frisco and 
found that forty dollars an ounce will be paid with¬ 
out haggling. 

“So now you know what ambergris is, and its con¬ 
nection with the perfume industry. Soon you will 
see its connection with us. Meanwhile, let us to 
John Winters’s journal again. 

“The next relevant entry is five days later, March 
31st: 

This day we picked up another piece of ambergrease, 

A 

floating past overside. Silva spotted it, and he gets ten 
pounds of tobacco as a reward. It weighed ten pounds. 
The Old Man is very joyous; he says it means good luck. 
This afternoon we raised two islands, well wooded. Cap¬ 
tain Peabody knows these islands. They are uninhabited, 
and the north one is well watered. Tomorrow we wood 
and water. 

“And then, comes the smashing denouement, the 
very next day, April 1, 1890: 

This day there did happen to us the like which no whale¬ 
man aboard can remember. I will write it down like it 
happened. 

This morning, at dawn, we came through the channel 
into the lagoon of the north island. It is a very difficult 
channel. A current sweeps the shore and runs through it 
like it was a big funnel, and all the driftage hereabouts 
comes into the lagoon. We let go anchor in ten fathoms, a 
half mile from the beach. 

I was given the wooding, and Costa was told off to water. 
We towed the casks ashore, and landed on a fine, white 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


119 


beach, that was littered with driftage. While the men were 
rolling the casks up to the spring Captain Peabody told us 
about, Costa and I took a walk along the beach. We came 
upon a great squid lying dead. He had been bitten in two 
by a cachalot, and had only three arms left, but they were 
of tremendous length. Then we saw pieces of other squid 
all along the beach. 

Suddenly Costa ran forward, and gave a great shout, 
and bent over what I had taken to be a big jelly-fish. “By 
Gar—grease!” says he. It was a big lump of ambergrease, 
the biggest any man aboard has ever seen. It weighs 198 
pounds. 

But this was not all. Costa and I danced around our 
find like madmen, and the hands came running up. Then 
Silva gave a shout, and we found he had discovered a lump 
of grease. Then we looked along the beach, and we found 
it was dotted with the precious stuff. 

I sent Costa straightway to tell the captain, and he and 
Mr. Garboy came ashore in a great hurry. I never saw 
anybody take on like Garboy. The Old Man brought 
everybody ashore, except the cook and chips, and we combed 
the beach all the way around the lagoon, and around the 
seaward rim of the island. But we didn’t find any grease 
except inside. By nightfall we had a big boatload, and we 
went aboard. The captain and Mr. Garboy are on the 
poop now, helping the cooper stow it, themselves, so afraid 
are they that some of it will be smuggled forward. The 
Old Man is dancing with joy. 

“There you are—all of that entry. Just think of 
those two chaps dancing around their find, beside 
a giant dead squid! I wager that was the supreme 
moment of their greasy lives. I wager that old 
spouter seethed with excitement and gossip that 


120 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


night. No wonder the Old Man danced! How 
would you like to stumble on a windfall like that, 
Blake? But let us get on. 

“I’ll read the entry for three days later. In the 
interim, they had lain to anchor in the lagoon, and 
continued their search for more ambergris. 

We did not get any more grease today, though we raked 
and scraped the beach. There is no more. The Old Man 
says he is satisfied, and we leave tomorrow morning. Every¬ 
body is speculating about how so much grease came to be 
here. Nobody knows for sure. Garboy says that this is 
a great place for squid, and that the school of Cachalot we 
were in a couple of weeks ago had been here feeding. He 
says that something was the matter with the squid and that 
the fish got sick and vomited the grease. 

I don’t know, it may be so, the stuff is full of squid 
beaks. But Garboy is too cocksure. Anyway we have the 
stuff, and stowed safe in the lazaret. Counting what 
we picked up before, we have 1,500 pounds. A great for¬ 
tune for the owners, and a fine bonus for us. When I get 

\ 

home, I will buy a farm, and settle down ashore. 

“So—1,500 pounds, and worth more than half a 
million dollars, according to prices paid in those 
days—today, worth a million. John Winters might 
well indulge in dreams of bucolic bliss; the whale¬ 
men, you know, received a substantial bonus on am¬ 
bergris finds, over and above their regular lay. 

“The log for the next few days is filled with the 
various speculations rife as to the origin of the 
treasure, of visions of quiet farm life in New Eng¬ 
land, and of hopes concerning a girl named Alice. 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


121 


Then, on April 25th, 144 0 , 48' E. Longitude, 20°33' 
N. Latitude—that shows they were at the northern 
limits of the Ladrones—he writes: 

We are to have another season up north, in Okhotsk and 
Bering seas. The Old Man and Mr. Garboy have had a 
fine argument about it. Garboy says we have enough to 
make the owners happy, and give us all a fine lay, and that 
vve can’t trust the foremast hands with all the grease aboard. 

Captain Peabody says he is going home with a full ship, 

grease or no grease, that the hands may be-, that they 

haven’t the guts to get at the grease anyway, and that it 
isn’t the mate’s place to give him advice. So Garboy shut 
up, and we are bound north after the baleen. Well, I 
think Garboy is right, though he hasn’t any business offering 
advice to the Old Man. I am glad the Old Man shut him 
up. Anyway, a full ship means more dollars, and I will 
need plenty of dollars to start life ashore with. I will have 
enough to buy the old Wentworth place. I think Alice will 
take me, and if she don’t, there are plenty of other girls in 
the world. 

“You see, friend Winters is indulging in the time- 
honored pastime of spending his payday before he 
has it; and of vowing the usual sailor vow to leave 
the sea and buy a farm. Well, perhaps the poor 
devil was in earnest; but he didn’t have a chance 
to achieve his ambition. 

“Now we will skip to the last regular entries in 
the book. They are dated several months later, 
August of 1890, and the Good Luck has been on the 
northern grounds for some time. No position is 
given, for reasons you will appreciate. First is dated 
August 15th: 



122 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Still in the fog. We have been three weeks without a 
sight, fogbound, and blundering God knows where. The 
breeze holds from the southwest at about three knots, but 
the bank is moving with the wind. It is so thick we can 
not see a ship’s length in any direction. The current is 
strong and westerly. 

I know the Old Man is worried, because the Kamchatka 
coast is close a-lee. Garboy says he was in a bank in these 
seas one time for ten weeks. I think he is a liar. I am 
thinking a lot about Alice. 

“Next entry two days later, August 17th,” said 
the hunchback. 

Still fogbound. Heavy groundswell from sou’east. Gar- 
boy says it means a sou’east blow, and I think he is right. 
Well, anything to blow away this cursed fog! The Old 
Man is drunk today. The old skinflint never hands out a 
swig to any of us, though. We must be near land, for we 
hear birds flying above the fog. All hands standing by, 
and we are keeping the best lookout possible. The Old Man 
should sober up, and attend to business. 

“There, that is the last regular entry, the last one 
he wrote upon the ship. Here is the next one— 
observe the different ink! This is written in red, 
the same color as those figures upon the skin. I 
think Winters wrote with one of those red writing- 
sticks you buy on the China coast; he probably had 
one in his pocket. This entry tells of tragedy— 
mark how it begins: 

May God have mercy! I will write down our plight, 
though I know there is small chance of these words reaching 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


1 O'? 

civilization. I sit in the window of the dry cave, on the 
Fire Mountain, and write by the light of the midnight sun! 

Manuel Silva and I are the sole survivors of the wreck 
of the Good Luck. Thirty-five were lost. We are cast 
away on a barren island. It is a volcanic mountain, filled 
with black caves. There is a bottomless hole that belches 
steam, and the earth shakes. We do not know our latitude 
or longitude. God help us, we only know we are cast away 
in the empty Bering sea, near the Asia coast! 

It happened a week ago. I had the deck. We were 
running before a hard gale from the sou’east, and the Old 
Man was drunk. It was very thick, and impossible to keep 
a good lookout. Then, just after two bells in the middle 
watch, I heard breakers. I had only time to order the 
wheel up, when wt struck. We jammed between two 
monster rocks, and the masts went by the board, and the 
ship broke in two. The fore part went to pieces, and all 
the hands forward, except Silva, who was at the wheel, 
went to. 

The stern was wedged fast. Garboy and Costa gained 
the deck from the cabin. The others must have drowned 
in their bunks. We launched the quarterboat, but it 
swamped, and we were spilled into the boiling sea. I was 
washed free of the reef, and made the beach. I found Silva 
there. 

We were ’most frozen, and bruised badly. I got out the 
matches I had in the waterproof packet I carry this log in, 
and we made a fire of driftwood in one of the caves, and 
warmed ourselves. Then, we looked for the others, it be¬ 
ing daylight, except for the couple of hours after midnight. 
But we found not a body. 

We salvaged all the wreckage we could reach. It was 
not much, for the currents swept most of the stuff to sea. 
We got a cask of beef, and one of biscuit. The quarterboat 
came ashore, only a little damaged. We also got the wreck- 


124 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

age of No. 4 whaleboat, and her gear, and some timbers, 
and a handy billy. 

That day the gale was spent, and next day was clear 
and calm. We repaired the quarterboat with stuff from the 
whaleboat, and she is tight. Then we pulled off to the 
wreck, and succeeded in boarding her. Then the Devil 
entered into us, and we were possessed by greed. We had 
planned to get clothes, and stores from the lazaret; but when 
we got into the lazaret, we had no thought but for the 
treasure of ambergrease. We spent all the day getting the 
ambergrease to shore. We were greatly tired by the labor, 
and, since the wreck showed no signs of breaking up, we 
went into a cave and turned in. 

While we slept, it came on to blow again. When we 
awoke, the seas were breaking over the wreck. The bay 
was quiet, sheltered by the mountain, so our stuff on the 
beach had come to no harm. But during the day the wreck 
broke up, and swept to sea. We salvaged but one box of 
candles—not a particle of the clothes and food we so sorely 
need. So, doth Providence justly punish us for our greed! 

Silva was greatly disheartened, but I braced him up. We 
set about to explore the caves, with the candles; for we 
wanted a dry cave to sleep it, and to stow the ambergrease 
in. The ground-level caves are all wet from steam, though 
they are warm. So, we went into the mountain through 
the Elephant Head, toward the great noise. We came to a 
windy cave, where there was a great Bottomless Hole, that 
the noise came out of. Silva went half mad with terror, 
for he is very superstitious, but I saw it was steam. But 
it is an evil place. And afterward we found the hole in 
the roof that led to this dry cave. 

This window I write by is the only daylight opening of 
the dry cave, and it is full forty feet above the beach. But 
we had no nerve to look deeper into the black guts of this 
awful place, and we decided to use this cave. So, I rigged 


THE WHALEMAN’S LOG 


125 


the handy billy, and we hoisted all the grease in through 
the window, and stowed it. And we have taken up our 
quarters here, and I have made a ladder from the rope of 
the handy billy, so we can come in through the window, 
and don’t have to pass through that fearsome place where 
the hole is. 

“There—that was written a week after the 
wreck,” said Little Billy. “The next one, three days 
later: 

We have been here ten days now, and I think things look 
mighty black. Silva’s nerve is gone, and I have to fight to 
keep mine. The mountain shakes continuously, and we fear 
it will erupt. And always, there is the noise, the moaning 
in the hole, and the great rumble. It has got Silva. 

Silva has gone down to the beach to get shellfish. We are 
saving the beef, as much as we can. I am glad Silva is 
out of my sight. He is mad—and, God help me! I fear 
I am going mad, too. He sits and looks at me by the 
hour, just looks, looks, and says not a word, and his eyes 
burn. 

I am feared of him. He is a murderer. He told me so, 
when his conscience mastered him. He told me why he 
feared the hole. He drank of the hot spring, and when he 
got a bellyache, he thought he was dying. Then he told 
me that he was one of the hands on the Argonaut , a dozen 
years ago, and that there was mutiny, and that he strangled 
the captain with his hands. And he says the moaning down 
in the hole is the captain calling him. He is very super¬ 
stitious. Now he prays by the hour, and then curses hor¬ 
ribly. And he goes down to the edge of the hole and howls 
at the captain. I try to talk with him, and plan to reach 
the mainland in the quarterboat, but he shakes his head, and 
just looks, looks. I have taken his sheath knife, but I fear 


126 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


to wake and find him strangling me. But I will leave here, 
whether he will go or not. Better to die at sea, than in 
this black place! 

“Now—the next entry. Day or two later, I 
judge,” said Billy. 

He is gone! He was sitting opposite me, and suddenly he 
sings out something in his own lingo, and sprang to his 
feet, and rushed down toward the hole leading to the windy 
cave. He was laughing awfully. I followed—but could 
not catch him. He jumped into the hole and the noise 
stopped. And I stayed through the shake, and saw the lights 
from the pit. God help me, I wanted to jump, too! 

I am going to leave this place tomorrow. I have repaired 
the quarterboat, and hopeless or not, I will try to reach 
Kamchatka. It is better than to stay here, and go mad, and 
follow Silva! 

I have written the secret of the cave on a piece of the 
lining of my parka, though God knows if I shall ever need it. 
I have a little beef, and biscuit, and the breaker from the 
wreck of the whaleboat. Little enough! If I only had the 
latitude and longitude of this place, I might guess my 
chances. But—not even a compass! 

“The next entry is just a scrawl,” said Little Billy. 
“It is barely legible.” 

I am in the fog—the terrible gray fog! No water! I 
see Alice in the fog! 

“And then—the end.” 

I see Silva sitting opposite me. He looks, looks! Lord 
God, hast thou deserted me? 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CODE 

rr^HERE was a moment’s silence as Little 
Billy finished reading. There was in the 
hunchback’s face, and in the faces of the girl 
and the old captain, a somber understanding of 
John Winters's fate. 

The whaleman’s pitiful experience was a common¬ 
place of the sea, and it required no effort of mind 
on their part to vision the tragedy of an open 
boat on an empty sea. But Martin was more 
sharply impressed. The sea held as yet no common¬ 
places for him, and the poignant question that ended 
the castaway’s chronicle kindled a flame of pity. 
Martin had the picture mind, and a habit of drama¬ 
tizing events. 

As Little Billy read, Martin had unconsciously 
followed the narrative with his mind’s eye, building 
a series of vivid, connected pictures. He had wit¬ 
nessed the battle with the whales, the finding of the 
treasure, had peered baffled into the blanket of 
Bering fog, had seen the leaping breakers at the 
base of the smoking mountain, had excursioned 
through the caves by Winters's side, and, at last, had 
beheld clearly the little open boat, with its despair¬ 
ing occupant, disappear into the gray mist. 

“The poor devil!’’ cried Martin. 

127 



128 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

His words broke the spell of silence that was upon 
the table. 

“Yes—the poor devil!” echoed Little Billy. “My 
very words, as I finished reading, there in Kim 
Ghee’s place. ‘The poor devil!’ A fitting epitaph.” 

“But w r hy an epitaph?” asked Martin quickly. 
Visions of an eleventh-hour rescue were surging 
through his mind. He felt one was necessary to 
round out his reel of pictures. “Could he not have 
been rescued after making that last entry? Why, 
he must have been rescued! How else could the 
journal have reached Honolulu?” 

“He was picked up,” interposed Ruth. 

“By another whaler,” added Little Billy. “Sick 
to death, and completely lunatic. Lie never recov¬ 
ered his reason. He died in Kim Ghee’s place. But 
I will continue my yarn, and you will see. 

“You can imagine, of course, the progressive 
transformation I underwent, while curled up on that 
old sea-chest, perusing the log. I began merely with 
the intention of forcing my mind away from myself, 
and thereby quieting my booze-jangled nerves; in a 
moment, I was interested; then I was excited by the 
whalemen’s discovery of the ambergris, and lastly I 
was overwhelmed by the fact that John Winters’s 
Fire Mountain was identical with the Cohasset’s 
Fire Mountain. The description clinched that fact. 
And to make more certain, I recalled the wreckage 
the captain and I had come across, and the board 
with the nearly effaced lettering upon it. The let¬ 
ters upon that board were, ‘LUC,’ and beneath, the 


THE CODE 129 

word ‘BEDFORD.’ Of course, it was the remnant 
of 1 Good Luck, of New Bedford.’ 

“It was about four o’clock in the morning when 
I finished the book. I summoned the Chinaman, 
straightway. Kim was asleep, and he came 
grumbling, in answer to my call. He thought I 
wanted drink, but John Winters had effectually 
doused the flame in my vitals. I had happened upon 
the probable clew to a vast treasure, and the thought 
of it obsessed me. 

“I put the question to Kim as to how the journal 
came to be in the Chamber of Horrors. It was a 
poser for Kim. His old yellow face wrinkled into 
a thousand dark creases, in the lantern’s dim light, 
and his shrewd, beady eyes wandered uncertainly 
between the book and my face. But at last he re¬ 
membered, and in his forcible and inimitable manner 
he enlightened me. 

“ ‘Why flor you sing out? Me catchie one piecie 
dleam. You no catchie ’lisky? Why flor you want? 
Me savvy blook. Long time—one time come glease 
ship. Up no’lth, sailorman he catchie one fellow 
walk about one piecie boat alone. Velly sick. Catch 
’im bats in ’liskers. Bring um Kim Chee. Sailor- 

man go ’way-’tief! No pay. Qleer fellow 

velly sick. No eat, no dlink, velly ’ot—all time tlalk, 

tlalk, about piecie glease.-fool clazy! Bimeby 

die. Flind piecie blook under clothes. Kim Chee 
no savvy. Why flor you want blook? ’Ow much 
you got? Dolla Hive—all light, you take. Me go 
bed.’ 

“From which discourse, I gathered that Kim Chee 




130 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


had been rudely interrupted in the midst of a sweet 
dream; that he could not fathom my sudden dis¬ 
taste for whisky; that a long time ago a whaleship 
had come into port with a sick man aboard, whom 
they had picked up in an open boat, up north; that 
they had brought the sick man to Kim, and de¬ 
parted without paying over any money; that Kim 
Chee had cared for the sick man, until the latter 
died; that the sick man had been out of his head, had 
talked constantly of ‘grease,’ had been crazy; that 
Kim had removed the diary from the man’s body, 
after death; that he would let me have it gladly for 
a dollar and five cents; that he was going back to 
bed and didn’t want to be disturbed again by the 
unaccountable vagaries of a dipsomaniacal white 
man. 

“I didn’t bother Kim again. Indeed, I clasped my 
cheaply purchased treasure close, hied myself with 
speed to the docks, and had myself pulled off to the 
brig. My spree was ended, and I felt that I held in 
my hand the best piece of fortune that had befallen 
the happy family in many a day. 

“I reasoned, you see, that the treasure of amber¬ 
gris was still in its hiding-place on Fire Mountain— 
and subsequent events have not shaken that belief. 
I reasoned that Winters had been picked up some 
time after he had made his last entry in the log, that 
he was out of his head when rescued, and that he 
never regained sanity. 

“His rescuers apparently did not bother to search 
him, or else, with the cunning of the crazed, Winters 
concealed from them his journal. If they had hap- 


THE CODE 


131 


pened upon it, they would surely have appropriated 
it. Their dumping him off on Kim Chee was not so 
heartless as it sounds—the sick man was undoubt¬ 
edly better off ashore in Hawaii than aboard a cruis¬ 
ing whaler, and Kim Chee is famed for his charity 
from one end of the Pacific to the other. 

“At breakfast that morning, I acquainted Ruth 
with the discovery, and read to her the passages I 
read to you. It was an exciting breakfast. 

“We were waited upon by Ichi, the little Jap we 
shipped as cook in Hakodate. Polite, stupid, un¬ 
familiar with the English language, we did not think 
it necessary to guard our speech against him. In¬ 
deed, we never gave him a thought, and we discussed 
my find pro and con very freely. We dwelt upon 
the value of the treasure, verified the Good Luck’s 
reported loss by research, congratulated ourselves 
upon our knowledge of the position of Fire Moun¬ 
tain—all in the hearing of the self-effacing Ichi. We 
were only daunted by the prospect of searching 
blindly through that cave-riddled mountain. Then, 
Ruth found the code.” 

“Yes, it was pure luck,” interposed Ruth. “I 
was examining the book, and I noticed a crack in the 
length of the cover. I looked more closely and dis¬ 
covered that the cover had been slit lengthwise, and 
that a piece of skin had been inserted.” 

“That is it—Exhibit A,” said Little Billy. He 
pointed to the white strip on the table. “We recog¬ 
nized it instantly as the piece of parka lining Win¬ 
ters mentions using to write upon the secret of the 


132 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


cave. It is a piece of the skin of an unborn reindeer. 
The Kamchatka tribes line their fur garments with 
that skin, and Winters had evidently obtained his 
parka from them. The writing, you see, is all 
numerals.” 

Martin picked up and inspected the skin curiously. 
Unborn reindeer skin! He rubbed the glossy sub¬ 
stance between his fingers. It felt uncanny to his 
touch, this relic of a long-past tragedy, this message 
from the world’s end. And the message seemed to 
be no more than a faded jumble of figures. He read 
them carefully, searching in vain for some hint of 
meaning. 

43344544236153314612151113236243361531 1535231 13344 
62315111464643441142123411421465224331454613115115 
62635344244611313421446333442442361334423315426144 
254613115115 

“But how do you know this is a code?” Martin 
asked curiously. 

“Three excellent reasons,” said Little Billy. 
“First, John Winters mentions writing down the 
secret of the treasure’s location, and we discover 
this skin; second, your genial former employer de¬ 
ciphered these figures for the affable Ichi; third, 
Ruth and I proved the correctness of the decipher¬ 
ing this morning. 

“I guess I had better acquaint you with the 
method of this means of communication. I don’t 
know how a simple seaman, like John Winters seems 
to have been, could have become familiar with the 


THE CODE 


133 


art of cryptography—probably from reading, pos¬ 
sibly devised the thing himself. It is very simple 
once you have the key—quite useful, too. Ruth and 
I talked to each other through a wall by this code, 
back there in Bob Carew’s lair. Consultation with 
Poe’s Gold Bug } and an hour’s application that 
morning after breakfast, gave me the key, though 
I had no chance that day to discover more. It is 
what is called a ‘checker-board’ code. Here, I will 
draw it out!” 

The hunchback turned to a blank space in the 
diary and rapidly sketched a diagram. He handed 
it across, for Martin’s interested inspection, and 
Martin beheld the following: 



7 

£ 

3 

¥ 

S’ 

/ 


& 

\ e 

1 

Jl* 

5 

* 

$ 

k 

l 

• 

s 

3 



' /V 

i o 

/> 

¥ 

$ 

! /£. | 

s 

JC 

a 

S 

v ' 

| w 

X 

? j 

z 


C</ 

“You will observe that the letter ‘k’ is missing,” 
said Little Billy. “You use ‘c’ for ‘k,’ and to write 














134 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


a message, you merely write down the line the letter 
is on, and its position on that line. Thus, in Winters’s 
message, the first two numerals are ‘43d That 
means, fourth line, third letter, or the letter ‘sd 
You see, you take the numbers in pairs—that is, 
until you reach a number 6 . 

“There are no numbers in the code above 5, so 
Winters used a 6 to indicate the spaces between 
words. To illustrate: Winters’s secret begins with 
the numbers 43344544236. Pair these numbers off, 
and we have 43-34-45-44-23-6. Decipher with the 
diagram, and we have, 4th line 3rd letter, or ‘s,’ 3rd 
line 4th letter, or ‘o,’ 4th line 5 th letter, or ‘u,’ 4th 
line 4th letter, or ‘t,’ 2nd line 3rd letter, or ‘hd 
That makes s-o-u-t-h, or the word ‘south.’ 

“But there is no need of my continuing the transla¬ 
tion. Friend Smatt has kindly attended to that 
for us. Here it is.” 

Martin took the proffered piece of paper, the 
piece of paper covered with Smatt’s handwriting, 
that had come out of the envelope. He read in 
Law r yer Smatt’s bold, angular hand, 

South end beach—in elephant head—4 starboard— 
windy cave—2 port—aloft—north corner dry cave. 

“That marks the location of our prospective, 
odorous loot,” continued the hunchback. “No doubt 
about it. The captain and I remember very well 
the cave opening in the rock shaped like an ele¬ 
phant’s head, on the south end of Fire Mountain’s 
beach. It is up to us to get there first.” 


THE CODE 


135 


“But how did Smatt—” commenced Martin. 

“How did Smatt come to be in possession of the 
skin? I am coming to that. The Jap, Ichi, brought 
it to him. 

“That morning, after Ruth and I had discussed 
the diary, Ruth set out for shore to visit the captain 
in the hospital. She took Winters’s book along with 
her to read to the captain—good thing she did, as 
it turned out. I stayed aboard and tackled the code. 
As I said, I discovered the key after an hour’s or so 
application. That is, I had fathomed the checker¬ 
board, had drawn a diagram, and had begun to de¬ 
cipher. Then my much-abused body went on strike. 

“You remember, I was just at the end of an ex¬ 
tended spree. For a week I had swum in stimu¬ 
lants and gone without rest. I was near a break¬ 
down when Kim Chee took me in hand. The dis¬ 
covery of the log braced me up. But all of a sudden, 
while I was working here in the cabin, over that 
scrap of reindeer skin, I collapsed. 

“I called for Ichi and ordered black coffee. I 
remember he answered my call by materializing 
almost instantly at my side. He must have been 
lingering behind my chair—though I do not recol¬ 
lect seeing him about the cabin after Ruth left for 
shore. He brought me a large cup of black coffee. 
I drank it, and went promptly to sleep. It may 
have been a drug, or it may have been nature having 
her way with me.” 

“It was drugged coffee the Jap gave you,” stated 
Captain Dabney with finality. “I know those yellow 

• in 

imps! 


136 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Martin started at the blind man’s sudden inter¬ 
jection into the conversation. Since he had con¬ 
cluded his story, Captain Dabney had sat listening, 
immobile and silent. At times Martin had suspected 
him of dozing. But now, his emphatic outburst 
proved that he had followed Little Billy’s words 
closely. 

“That Ichi lad was no dunderhead,” continued 
the captain. “He was playing a part aboard here. 
He was commissioned by that Hakodate crowd to 
discover our trading points—if this ambergrease 
affair hadn’t turned up and tempted him, he would 
have stayed with us and made the trip north this 
Summer. Then next year a couple of Jap schooners 
would have gone ahead of us, peddling booze to the 
tribes, and killing the goose that laid the golden egg. 
Blast their yellow hides! I never traded with a 
trustworthy Jap in my life.” 

“Yes, he was doubtless a spy of the syndicate,” 
assented Little Billy. “Certainly he was playing a 
part aboard here, for when I ran across him yester¬ 
day morning, in Frisco, he was anything but the 
cookie of a wind-jammer, and his English showed a 
remarkable improvement. 

“In any event, whether Ichi drugged my coffee or 
not, I was dead to the world as soon as I swallowed 
it. When the boatswain came aboard—he had been 
ashore for a couple of days, searching for me—in 
the middle of the afternoon, he found me asleep in 
my chair. He thought I was drunk, and he picked 
me up and carried me to my bunk. When Ruth 
came aboard later, bringing the captain with her, 


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it was discovered that Ichi had vanished, and Ruth 
had to prepare the cabin supper that night. I slept 
till morning. When I awoke, I discovered that Win¬ 
ters’s code had vanished with the cook.” 

“We also discovered that Ichi had tried unsuc¬ 
cessfully to open the safe in the captain’s room,” 
said Ruth. “He was undoubtedly after the old log 
book that contained the entry about the discovery 
of Fire Mountain, including the latitude and longi¬ 
tude.” 

“Well, he was successful enough in making off 
with the code,” said Little Billy. “We combed 
Honolulu for him that day, without result. Two 
ships had left the afternoon before—one bound for 
the Orient, the other for California. Our missing 
cookie appeared upon the passenger list of neither 
vessel, but we concluded that he had taken steerage 
passage for Yokohama. 

“The loss of the code was a serious matter. Of 
course, we knew the location of the island, and we 
were determined to square away for Fire Mountain 
as soon as the season permitted, but we were rather 
dismayed by the prospect of having to search blindly 
through that labyrinth of caves for the Good Luck’s 
treasure. That Winters and Silva had stowed the 
stuff in some well-concealed place was evident from 
the entry in the log, and from the use of a code. 
We were dubious of success in our quest until last 
night. 

“Jump from Hawaii to San Francisco. We came 
up to Frisco, you know, to consult some specialists 
about the captain’s eyesight. Yesterday, the cap- 


138 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


tain came aboard from the hospital. We were lying 
off Angel Island, ready for sea, and awaiting the 
captain’s word to up anchor and away for the 
Bering—it will be the open season up there by the 
time we have completed the passage. 

“Yesterday was a holiday with us. It was the 
occasion of our revered and beloved chief mate’s 
twenty-first natal day, and in the morning, the 
boatswain and I set forth for shore in search of suit¬ 
able offerings.’’ 

“I know—you were setting forth to buy flowers,’’ 
broke in Martin. “Bosun told me—you got-” 

“We got lost from each other; intentionally lost 
on my part, as I confessed to you. Well, friend Ichi 
was the innocent cause of that harrowing separation. 

“It happened in one of the many thirst parlors 
that line Market Street. The bosun and I had 
stepped in to wet our whistles, and, looking out of 
the open door, I was astounded to perceive our 
truant cookie pass by. The bosun was occupied at 
the moment with a nickel poker machine. I did not 
disturb him—he is a hasty, straightforward person 
and unfitted for a subtle pursuit. I slipped through 
the door and fell into the wake of the Jap. But 
what a metamorphosed sea-cook I trailed! Re¬ 
splendent in fine feathers, Ichi looked more like a 
diplomat or banker than anything else. 

“I trailed him through the streets for an hour. 
Once he stopped before a news-stand and purchased 
a paper, and I was close enough to overhear him 
speak perfect English to the clerk. He finally led 
me into an office building, up an elevator, and to the 



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office of one Josiah Smatt, Attorney at Law. Ichi 
entered this office. I, following by the elevator’s 
next trip, saw him disappear through the door. I 
applied my eagle eye to the aperture intended for 
keys and spying, and saw you, my dear Blake, direct 
the Oriental blossom into an inner office. 

“Along the hall meandered one of the loquacious 
brotherhood, book under arm, conquest in his eye. 
Inspiration struck me a thump. I fell in the way 
of the book agent and became a ready victim of his 
wiles. For a consideration, I became owner of the 
volume. As soon as he had my money, the agent 
made for the stairs, evidently fearing I would re¬ 
pent my bargain. When he had disappeared, I 
adopted his role and burst in upon the hapless clerk 
of Lawyer Smatt with the matchless ‘Compendium 
of Universal Knowledge.’ 

“You know what transpired then, for you were 
that very hapless clerk. You were very pleasant to 
the poor book agent, Blake, but you refused to be 
seduced by the alluring description I gave my 
wares.” 

“By George ! You talked like a sure-enough book 
pest,” asserted Martin. “But I noticed something 
phony about you—your tanned face, and the tattoo 
marks on your arms. I remember, I wondered how 
a book agent came by such ornaments.” 

“Yes, and I noticed you wondered why my eyes 
were roving around your office,” added Little Billy. 
“I was looking for Ichi. I placed him in that inner 
office, heard his voice, and the voice of your em¬ 
ployer. I was wondering what to do to get past 


140 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


you and attempt to spy upon them, and then Smatt 
helped me out by summoning you. Do you recol¬ 
lect, when you dismissed me and entered the inner 
office, you saw me leaving the outer office? Yes, 
you did—not. You had no sooner closed the inner 
office-door behind you than I was at the keyhole. 

“I tried first to overhear. Nothing doing. 
Couldn’t distinguish but an occasional word. Then, 
I placed my eye to the keyhole. I saw you standing 
before the desk, Ichi staring at you, and Smatt ad¬ 
dressing you. I saw Smatt hand over the envelope. 
I was morally certain it contained the code, from 
the care Smatt exercised and the interest Ichi 
showed. Then you started for the door, and I had 
to beat a hasty retreat. I guess I reached the hall¬ 
way about the same instant you opened the door 
from the inner office.” 

“I felt your presence!” cried Martin, recalling of 
a sudden his feeling of that moment the previous 
afternoon. “I remember I looked out-” 

“—Into the hall,” finished Little Billy. “Yes— 
I was concealed around the corner of the cross cor¬ 
ridor. I saw you. I left the building at a double 
quick and made for the water-front. I went aboard 
and told Ruth and the captain what I had discov¬ 
ered. Then Ruth and I went ashore. 

“I was sure you had the code in your possession, 
and I had overheard enough to know that you were 
to deliver the envelope to somebody, some place, last 
night. So, you were the unconscious burden of our 
thoughts, the prospective victim of our wiles. 

“I had obtained your name from the janitor of 



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the office building, by pretending I was searching for 
a friend who worked in one of the offices. Consulta¬ 
tion of the city directory gave us your home address, 
and we headed in that direction. First, though, we 
picked up the bosun, hard by where I had deserted 
him. His condition was rather bibulous, but owing 
to his hollow legs and ivory dome, he was clear¬ 
headed and able to fall in with our plans. A shrewd- 
enough person is the bosun, an actor of no mean 
ability. His strategy served us well in the evening. 

“Well, having the bosun, we set forth to gather 
information concerning your own estimable self. 
We went to your boarding-house. I donned the role 
of census-taker for the new city directory, and inter¬ 
viewed the chatty Mrs. Meagher. From her I 
learned the names and occupations of all the board¬ 
ers in the house; specifically, I was informed of 
your orphaned and comparatively friendless condi¬ 
tion, your age, your lodge, your studious habits, and 
your very, very respectable residence. From an¬ 
other source we later learned of your adorable curly 
brown hair, your calm, gray eyes, your strange aver¬ 
sion for the dangerous sex, even though they be 
‘puffick loidies.’ A fellow lodger of yours gave us 
most of our information—or, let us say, a companion 
lodger. A lady, a ‘puffick loidy,’ a gimlet-eyed and 
talkative maiden, with a glorious crown of golden 
hair—though, alas, I fear ’tis a drug-store gold.” 

“Good Lord—Miss Pincher!” exclaimed Martin. 

He felt his ears burning, and knew he was blush¬ 
ing. Confound that manicure girl! “Adorable hair 


142 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


—calm eyes” indeed! He shot a glance at Ruth. 
She was laughing at his discomfiture. 

“We discovered she lodged in your house and we 
trailed her to the beauty parlor where she labors. 
Ruth pumped her.” 

“Oh, you are a fine favorite of hers,” rallied 
Ruth. “She swears by you, Mr. Blake. I hap¬ 
pened to casually mention your name, and she was 
charmed by the coincidence of your being a mutual 
friend. She gave you a very fine character indeed, 
though, she hated to admit, you were not as gallant 
as you might be. ‘Regular goop with gods,’ I be¬ 
lieve she said.” 

“Silly little mush-head,” mumbled Martin, greatly 
confused. “Suppose she told you everything she 
knew about me.” 

“Yes, and then some,” remarked Little Billy. 
“Oh, Ruth has your entire history, Martin Blake. 
But I would not blush about it. Indeed, if my record 
were as good as yours, I would straighten my back. 
Ruth came out of that beauty-parlor with a record 
that goes something like this: very good-looking, 
muscular, studious, poor but honest, does not drink 
or smoke to excess, though has been known to swear 
violently and indulge in combat on occasion of coal¬ 
man flogging horse up a hill, is impervious to wiles 
of beskirted siren, be her hair ever so yellow, and 
her eyes ever so blue. 

“Frankly, we were disappointed by your uncom¬ 
promising rectitude, friend Martin. We were, you 
see, greatly desirous of obtaining that envelope you 
had in your pocket. We had hoped to discover some 


THE CODE 


143 


weakness, some vice, in your composition—a fond¬ 
ness for drink, or for women, or for cards—some¬ 
thing we might use as a leverage to pry loose from 
you that envelope. We failed in our quest, and we 
had to abandon our safe scheme of cunning in favor 
of more direct and violent methods. 

“We hired an automobile for the day—I’ll wager 
that garage man was peevish when he discovered his 
machine abandoned in an alleyway, today—and 
Ruth and the bosun departed for that neighborhood 
that lodged you. I waited around the office, and 
when you left I trailed you home. 

“I met Ruth and bosun, and we hit upon a plan. 
I went to a clothing store and purchased a suit of 
men’s clothes, and overcoat, and a cap. Ruth 
donned them in the privacy of the car. Then, she 
and I took up our position in the dark doorway of 
the vacant house next door to you.” 

“Why, I recall! I saw a chap in a gray over¬ 
coat!” cried Martin. 

“On the steps as you came out of the house,” sup¬ 
plemented Little Billy. “Yes, that was Ruth. You 
came out before we expected you, and we were not 
prepared. You see, we had decided to hold you up. 
I was to shove a revolver in your face, and Ruth was 
to relieve you of the envelope. Your popping out so 
unexpectedly upset us. 

“Ruth sneezed, and attracted your attention, and 
then she lost her wits and beat it down the street. 
If you had looked more keenly into that doorway 
next door, you would have seen yours-truly lurking 
nervously there. But you went straightway down 


144 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


the street yourself, and, in truth, I was not sorry 
that accident spoiled our coup. Neither Ruth, nor 
I, liked very well the idea of sticking up that active¬ 
appearing and uncertain quantity termed ‘Martin 
Blake,’ not to mention our scruples anent law¬ 
breaking violence. 

“Well, the hold-up was off. Ruth beat you to the 
corner, and informed the waiting bosun of the 
failure. The bosun was properly valorous. He 
would attend to the ‘blasted law shark.’ So, while 
Ruth sought refuge in the automobile, the bosun lay 
in wait for you by the corner. He was to grasp you 
in those enormous hands of his, subdue you properly, 
and extract the treasure from your pocket—Ruth 
had told him which pocket. 

“But, friend Martin, your penchant for making 
friends on sight saved you. The bosun’s scheme was 
to pick a quarrel with you, but when you encoun¬ 
tered him, your courtesy disarmed him. He con¬ 
fided this morning that you were ‘such a proper little 
lad, I didn’t ’ave the ’eart to ’it ’im.’ So, to gain 
time, and to boost his courage, he carted you into 
the saloon and bought you a drink. And a good 
thing he did; otherwise we would have been in igno¬ 
rance of Wild Bob Carew’s joining this game. Ay, 
and Ruth might have disappeared and left us in 
ignorance of her fate!” 

A sudden, forcible, inelegant oath, ripped forth 
by the blind captain, startled the group. It was 
not an epithet to use before a woman—though Mar¬ 
tin did not think of that at the moment, nor did 
Ruth appear shocked. Martin was surprised by the 


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145 


wild rage that suddenly suffused Captain Dabney’s 
serene countenance. 

“I’ll make that renegade hound pay!” swore the 
captain, thumping the table in emphasis. “I told 
him I’d kill him if he bothered Ruth again. By 
Heaven, blind though I be, I’ll keep my word! I’ll 
see him, and recognize him, when we meet—the ly¬ 
ing cur!” 

The outburst ceased as suddenly as it had com¬ 
menced, and the captain’s working features assumed 
instantly their accustomed immobile serenity. Mar¬ 
tin noticed that the hunchback’s face was sober, and 
that Ruth's face was white. He judged that the 
captain was not indulging in vain boasting. 

“Wild Bob Carew is the jinx of the happy fam¬ 
ily,” said Little Billy, after a moment. “He is a 
human devil right enough. And the discovery that 
he is interested in this affair was serious and impor¬ 
tant news for us. I understand it took the wind 
out of the bosun’s sails for a moment. You see, be¬ 
fore your conversation with the bosun in that little 
tavern we did not know where you were taking the 
envelope. You mentioned ‘Carew’ and ‘Black 
Cruiser,’ and we were enlightened. 

“But the bosun failed in his undertaking, after all. 
He slipped on the floor, and your agility saved you. 
You hopped a street-car and escaped the bosun’s 
clutches. 

“You didn’t shake us off, though. We picked up 
the bosun, and followed you in the machine, keeping 
your car in sight the entire way to the Ferry Build¬ 
ing. During the journey, the bosun communicated 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


146 

his news. At the Ferry we shot ahead of you, 
ditched the machine in an alleyway, and prepared 
the new plan I had evolved. 

“I dodged into a pawn-shop and bought a legal- 
size envelope and some sheets of paper. Then I 
doubled back ahead of you and awaited your com¬ 
ing, perching myself on a handy fire-hydrant. The 
rest you know. My eloquence charmed you, and 
while you so kindly encircled me w T ith your arm, to 
keep me from falling, I picked your pocket of the 
treasure and substituted the trash I had prepared. 

“Such was our campaign against the person of 
Martin Blake. You went on and entered the dive. 
I dodged across to the wharf where the bosun and, 
I thought, Ruth, were awaiting me in the brig’s 
dingey. I found the bosun, but not Ruth. She had 
been too curious to remain in safety. She had left 
the bosun in charge of the boat and taken up a posi¬ 
tion where she could watch my operations.” 

“Not altogether curiosity— I had a scheme of 
my own in case you failed,” broke in Ruth. 

“Well, your scheme got you into a pretty fix,” 
retorted Little Billy. “I was nervous because of the 
proximity of Carew to Ruth,” he continued to Mar¬ 
tin, “and I straightway set out to look for her. I 
came abreast the Black Cruiser just in time to see a 
certain young gentleman in a gray overcoat being 
hustled through the saloon’s side entrance, by a 
group of suspiciously chunky-appearing men. I 
heard no outcry, but I knew that Ruth was in 
Carew’s toils.” 

“I couldn’t cry out,” said Ruth. “One of those 


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147 


yellow runts had a jiu-jitsu hold upon my neck. My 
speech was paralyzed for the instant. Indeed, I 
could hardly walk. They practically carried me into 
Carew’s presence.” 

“I saw you, in the hall,” broke in Martin. 

“I didn’t see you,” replied Ruth. “Indeed, I 
hardly recall passing through a hall. I came to 
my senses when they brought me into a big, lighted 
room, where Carew sat behind a table. I was—” 
the girl paused uncertainly, and Martin saw her 
face was white and strained—“I was frightened. 
There is no use my disguising the fact—that man 

terrifies me. He is—he is-” 

u ITe is a scoundrel!” exploded Captain Dabney. 
“Yes, but a courageous and resourceful scoun¬ 
drel,” commented Little Billy. He turned to Mar¬ 
tin and continued: “Bob Carew is not a new ac¬ 
quaintance of ours. We have had trouble with him 

before. He is, er-” 

“He is possessed of the idea that he loves me,” 
Ruth quietly continued Little Billy’s stammering 
words. “And he is a man who acts upon his ideas. 
He has made my life miserable for four years. Oh, 
I am afraid of that man! He is so determined and 
ruthless. And I would rather be dead than mated 
with that heartless wretch!” 

“Aye, and I would rather see you dead,” com¬ 
mented Captain Dabney. “Carew’s life smells to 
heaven. He is more odorous than those yellow men 
who own him.” 

“If you knew the Pacific, you would know Carew,” 
explained Little Billy to Martin. “He is the best 




148 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


and least favorably known blackleg between the two 
poles. He is an Englishman—the cast-off son of 
some noble house, I believe. And he is a cruel, 
treacherous, brave, and cunning beast! No other 
words fit him. Add to that a really beautiful body, 
a brazen gall, and a well-bred and suave carriage, 
and you have Wild Bob. He has an apt nickname 
—‘Wild Bob.’ 

“The man has come through more wild, disrepu¬ 
table escapades than any other three men afloat. 
He has robbed right and left all over the Pacific. 
Half the island capitals are closed to him. He 
robbed the captain, here, when the captain first 
knew and trusted him. Two years ago, his schooner 
the Aileen was confiscated by the United States gov¬ 
ernment for opium-running into California. Since 
that time he has been employed on shares by the 
same syndicate of Japs who have bought the cap¬ 
tain’s furs. They gave him the Yezo, which he re¬ 
named the Dawn, the fastest little schooner in the 
north and south Pacific, and he has been poaching 
seal for them, up north.” 

“Aye, and next year he would have ruined my 
trade, had not their spy cleared out with your 
secret,” rumbled the captain. 

“Yes, I have no doubt those gentlemen in Hako¬ 
date placed Ichi aboard to spy out our trading 
secrets,” assented Little Billy. “And Ichi’s learning 
of the million in ambergris awaiting an owner up 
there in Bering Sea upset their little plan. Ichi fled 
to Frisco, instead of to Japan, as we thought. He 
knew Carew and the schooner were in Frisco, and I 


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149 


suppose he turned to Smatt for assistance in deciph¬ 
ering the code, and also in preparing the Dawn for 
sea. Carew could not have attended to that per¬ 
sonally. He has to keep under cover in United 
States’ territory. I hazard the guess, Blake, that 
you are not acquainted with all the activities of 
Mr. Smatt?” 

“No,” admitted Martin. “Smatt is a very secre¬ 
tive man. All I know of his affairs I learned from 
handling his court papers; but I know he has many 
interests I am entirely ignorant of. For instance, I 
did not know what brought Dr. Ichi to the office, 
though he and Smatt were very chummy. I thought 
it was business connected with the Nippon Trading 
Company. Smatt is American counsel for a Japan¬ 
ese firm of that name. I never heard of the Dawn, 
nor of Carew, before yesterday.” 

“I guess we are better posted concerning your 
former employer than you, yourself,” informed 
Little Billy. “Smatt’s name is a byword with the 
Pacific traders—the shrewd old spider! ‘Nippon 
Trading Company’ is the same syndicate we have 
done business with; and those yellow financiers of 
Hakodate and Tokyo have many irons in the fire 
besides the fur iron. Opium and coolie smuggling 
into California—both very profitable. And old 
Smatt looks after their American interests, fixes of¬ 
ficials, keeps them clear of the law. It was Smatt 
who rescued Carew two years ago. 

“I have no doubt that immediately on receipt of 
Ichi’s intelligence, Smatt set about outfitting Carew 
for a trip to Fire Mountain. But I don’t know 



150 


l 

FIRE MOUNTAIN 

whether the attempted shanghaiing of Ruth was 
premeditated or not. Of course, they knew of our 
presence in the port, and they may have been waiting 
for a chance to pick up Ruth—aside from Carew’s 
mad infatuation, they may have expected to force 
from Ruth the latitude and longitude of Fire Moun¬ 
tain. I would not put a planned kidnaping beyond 
them. But it doesn’t seem probable in the light of 
our undisturbed efforts to filch the code from you.” 

“No, I am sure my capture was not the result 
of forethought,” stated Ruth. “I think they just 
noticed me standing steadfastly in the same position, 
just across the street from their rendezvous, and 
naturally they concluded I was a spy of some sort. 
Indeed, Carew’s exclamation, when they brought me 
before him, is convincing proof that he did not know 
whom his men had bagged. ‘My word, it is my spit¬ 
fire, Ruth!’ he cried. I acted the spitfire, too, and 
I am afraid I said some very unladylike things to 
him. But he only laughed in high glee. I was hor¬ 
ribly frightened, though I took care he didn’t sus¬ 
pect it. I know he meant to take me to sea with him. 

“I only faced him for a few moments. There 
was an interruption from the hall, a banging and 
a knocking-” 

“I did that, kicking a door,” said Martin. 

“I thought it was Little Billy, also captured,” 
went on Ruth. “I was desperate. And Carew 
had me thrust into that other room, and the door 
secured upon me. I heard a commotion and quar¬ 
reling without, and somebody was thrown into the 
room next to me. I thought it was Billy, and I tried 



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151 


to communicate by raps. You know, Billy and I 
have become quite expert in the use of that code; 
we practised on the passage up from the islands. 
You could not answer me, so I knew it was not 
Little Billy w T ho had been imprisoned in the next 
room. I waited patiently and fearfully, until Billy 
burst open the window.” 

“Yes, we didn’t lose any time starting our rescue,” 
added Little Billy. “When I saw them haul Ruth 
into the house, I rushed back to the boat and told 
the bosun. We reconnoitered. We saw a taxi drive 
up in front of the saloon, and Carew storm out, 
and drive off.” 

“I guess he was bound to see Smatt about the 
blank sheets of paper in the envelope,” said Martin. 
“I swore up and down that they had been placed 
there by Smatt.” 

“Yes, we guessed as much,” responded Little 
Billy. “Well, we encircled the building, discovered 
that back shed, and decided to try and force entrance 
from the rear. I hustled back to where we had left 
our automobile, and got a small steel bar from the 
tool-box. When I rejoined the bosun, we mounted 
to the roof of the shed and tackled the windows. 

“Luck was with us. You separate prisoners were 
in the rear of the house. We had a narrow squeak 
of it, though. Wild Bob returned before we had 
freed Ruth—that was that engine noise that startled 
us, Martin—and Wild Bob lived up to his reputa¬ 
tion by that vicious pursuit he gave us. 

“We won aboard safely, yanked up the hook and 
slipped out with the tide, without waiting for pilot 


152 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


or clearance. And so—well, now you know all. 
Remains nothing but for us to extend you a formal 
welcome to the bosom of the happy family.” 

Martin became suddenly aware that the recital 
was ended, and that three unlike, friendly faces were 
beaming upon him with smiling lips. Unconsciously, 
as he had followed the course of the tale with ab¬ 
sorbed interest, he had lost sight of the fact of his 
own intimate connection with the narrated events. 
He had seemed to be a listener to an interesting 
fiction. His old habit of identifying himself with 
the characters in the tales he read had mastered 
him. Little Billy’s recountal, and his own responses 
and interjections, all seemed part of a melodrama 
which, played out, would vanish and leave him 
secure in bis accustomed law-abiding world. 

Now he suddenly realized that the melodrama 
was real, that the first act only was ended, and that 
the last was obscured in the future. 

The day had been replete with shocks, but the 
greatest shock was this, when Martin finally and 
completely realized that the even course of his life 
had been rudely and permanently changed, that he 
had been plucked out of his humdrum niche and cast 
willy-nilly into this violent drama by sportive circum¬ 
stance. The tumultuous incidents of the previous 
night arrayed themselves in his mind with something 
of their true perspective. 

He touched his head, and felt the bandage about 
the forgotten wound. He became more keenly con¬ 
scious of his surroundings—the unfamiliar furnish- 


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153 


ings of the cabin, the careened table, the motion of 
the ship that had at first disturbed and now soothed 
him, the measured footfalls of the boatswain, over¬ 
head, the sough of the wind aloft. 

He looked with fresh eyes upon his companions. 
They too were actors in the play—the forceful 
blind man, the lovable cripple, and this blooming, 
merry-eyed girl whose every glance sent a strange 
thrill through his being. They were his partners, 
his shipmates! He was committed with them to this 
adventure, and he was glad. They, too, seemed 
glad, for they were smiling a welcome. 

“Of course, Martin, we feel rather diffident be¬ 
fore you,” spoke up Little Billy. “We know it is 
an outrage, this causing you to lose your comfort¬ 
able berth ashore, and-” 

“Say no more about it,” interrupted Martin. 
“You had sufficient provocation for all your actions. 
And really, believe me, I am very glad I fell in with 
you. I am glad to be here. I have wanted to go to 
sea all my life. We are going to Fire Mountain 
now, aren’t we ?” 

“That’s the spirit!” cried the captain heartily. 
“And you will not lose by your joining us, lad. 
Even if this venture prove a failure, there is still a 
mighty good living to be picked up on the Pacific.” 

“We are a sort of cooperative association,” ex¬ 
plained Ruth. “We work on shares; something like 
the whaleman’s lay, though more generous. Of 
course, we pay straight wages to the hands forward. 
But we of the afterguard work this way: After all 
expenses of a voyage have been paid, the captain 



154 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


as master and owner takes fifty per cent, of the net 
profits. The remaining fifty per cent, is divided 
among the rest of us, not according to rank but pro 
rata. We want you to join the partnership. You 
are to share equally with Billy, the bosun, and my¬ 
self. And if we really find this stuff on Fire Moun¬ 
tain, your share will come to a neat fortune. No, 
don’t start protesting—of course you are entitled 
to it.” 

“And don’t commence counting your chickens be¬ 
fore they are hatched,” admonished Little Billy. 
“It is quite on the cards that we will reach Fire 
Mountain to discover Carew ahead of us. Or some¬ 
body else may have happened upon the stuff during 
the twenty-five years since Winters died. The last 
is not probable, but the first is, at least, possible. 
It will not do for us to rest in false security. Carew 
and his backers are sure to have a try for that 
million on Fire Mountain.” 

“But he does not know the island’s position. I 
am sure of that!” objected Ruth. 

“But he does know Bering Sea, almost as well as 
I,” spoke up Captain Dabney. “And he knows the 
particular corner of Bering we are bound for. No 
—Billy is right. We must not imagine the Dazun 
isn’t on our heels, even now. In any event, he would 
be setting out for the Kuriles to pick up the seal- 
herds, about this time; and, knowing Carew as we 
do, we may prophesy that he will try to find our 
island. Indeed, the man may have already run 
across Fire Mountain during his excursions in those 


THE CODE 


155 


waters—he may know its position as well as we do. 
He’ll try to poach on our preserve, no fear. 

“That ambergris would represent the profits of 
a score of seal-raids—and besides, there is you, 
Ruth, drawing him like a lodestone. His attempt 
to shanghai you, back there in Frisco, shows the 
temper of the man. If we meet the Dawn up north, 
and I have a hunch we shall meet her, we want to 
keep our eyes open. Meanwhile, we want to make 
a smart passage, and get there first, and away. We 
want to carry on—by the Lord, crack on to the 
limit!” 

“If it has come to a race, Carew’s schooner has 
the heels of us,” observed Little Billy. 

“Yes, the Dawn is the better sailer,” reluctantly 
admitted the captain. “If the Cohasset were ten 
years younger, I wouldn’t admit it, but the old girl 
isn’t quite as limber as she used to be. But the log 
line isn’t everything in an ocean race. I know Bob 
Carew is a good seaman, but I’ll show him a trick 
or two this passage, for all that I’m a blind man!” 

“I hope we don’t meet him up north. I am 
afraid,” muttered Ruth. 

“But haven’t you considered that the police may 
have grabbed Carew, and the rest of that gang, for 
their part in that street fight?” broke in Martin. 
“Of course, I didn’t see the finish of that affair, but 
I remember that I saw the police coming just before 
I fell.” 

“The police! Lay Carew by the heels!” The 
captain shook his head. “No such good luck, I’m 


156 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

afraid. Trust Carew to win clear of the police 
every time.” 

“And if they did grab him, you may trust Lawyer 
Smatt to have procured his release, at least upon 
bail, ere now. There is the hope, of course, that 
when you, Martin, shied that gun into his face, he 
was badly injured,” said Little Billy. 

“Oh, I hope not!” ejaculated Martin. 

“We hope so,” went on Little Billy. “If you had 
killed him, you would have rendered mankind a serv¬ 
ice. No such luck, though—the devil never fails to 
look after his own. He may not have even been 
stunned. The bosun did not see what happened 
after you fell—he picked you up and turned tail and 
ran for it. But I have no doubt Carew’s men gath¬ 
ered up their leader and made off ahead of the law’s 
coming. Carew is too much the fox not to have had 
a getaway prepared; and the clearance we dumped 
off the Farallones showed that he had the Dawn 
ready for sea. I’ll wager we didn’t beat him out 
through the Gate by many hours!” 

“I suppose the police are looking for us?” ven¬ 
tured Martin. 

“Not likely,” assured the other. “We are safe 
away, at any rate. But I doubt if they have even 
heard of the Cohasset. The denizens of that grog- 
gery would have given no evidence against us—they 
are themselves too deeply implicated. Also, shoot¬ 
ing affrays are common enough on the Frisco water¬ 
front, even gunfights of such magnitude as we in¬ 
dulged in. The police will forget all about it within 
a week’s time. 


THE CODE 


157 


“Of course, if we had left you behind, to be ar¬ 
rested, the consequences might have been serious 
enough for you, providing you did not have money 
or influence. That is the main reason we brought 
you to sea with us. But as it is, a dead or wounded 
Jap does not amount to much in Frisco, and the 
affair will have slipped men’s minds long ere we see 
Market Street again.” 

“But—I think I killed that man, Spulvedo!” 
urged Martin, with a qualm at the recollection. 

“A good job if you did,” was the reply. “He 
was a notorious scoundrel. If you snuffed him out, 
I suspect the police would feel inclined to vote you a 
medal. But don’t feel badly about that incident, 
Blake. Remember, you dropped him in self-de¬ 
fense.” 

“Gentlemen!” broke in Ruth suddenly. “We 
will have to adjourn this meeting till another time. 
Seven bells went some time ago. I have just time to 
get my coffee and relieve the bosun by midnight.” 

“What—the watch gone!” cried the captain. 
“But, lass, you have had no rest.” 

“Small matter,” assented the girl, rising. “I’ll 
make up for it. Is there any change in course, 
captain?” 

“No, make all the westing we can,” said the cap¬ 
tain. “If this breeze will only hold a couple of 
days longer, we’ll pick up the trades. Then for the 
passage!” 

“But—a second!” exclaimed Little Billy. “We 
have not yet assigned our new brother to his duties. 
You know, Blake, there are no drones in the happy 


158 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


family. Now, I suggest, you are eminently qualified 
to assist the hard-driven steward.” 

A hearty laugh from the girl and the old man 
checked the hunchback's speech. 

“No, you are not going to sluff your job upon 
poor Mr. Blake’s shoulders!” cried Ruth. “That is 
—unless he wishes to become a steward.” 

“I want to be a sailor,” Martin asserted em¬ 
phatically. 

“Well said, lad—I know you have mettle,” com¬ 
mented Captain Dabney. “But it means work. You 
cannot learn a sailor’s work by pacing a poop-deck.” 

“I am more than willing to work—common sailor 
work,” said Martin. 

“Well, we’ll assign you to a watch,” said the old 
man. “Of course, you will live aft. Keep your pres¬ 
ent berth with Billy. You had better join the star¬ 
board watch, I think. The bosun is a great hand 
to break in a greenhorn.” 

But Martin objected to this disposition. He was 
watching Ruth. She was buttoning her pea-coat 
around her throat, preparatory to braving the raw 
night. There was, he dared to think, a welcome 
twinkle, a meaning message, in the sidewise glance 
she shot at him. 

would rather be in the mate’s watch,” said 
Martin. 

The captain grinned, Little Billy chuckled and 
muttered something about a “sheep to the slaugh¬ 
ter,” and the mate rewarded him with a flash of 
white teeth. 

“I’ll be glad to have you in my watch,” she said. 


THE CODE 


159 


“But remember—it is all work and no play! I keep 
strict discipline in my watch!” 

Martin then proposed to commence straightway 
his seaman’s career, by standing the impending 
watch, by accompanying Ruth on deck. Thereupon 
his officer voiced her first command: 

“I don’t want you blundering about the decks to¬ 
night with that sore head. Time enough for you 
to start in the morning; after breakfast I’ll examine 
the wound, and if it looks well I’ll turn you to. 
Also, you need to visit the slop-chest.” She pointed 
to his once natty, now bedraggled, business suit. 
“You are hardly dressed for facing weather. Billy 
will outfit you in the morning. Meanwhile, turn 
in and sleep.” 


CHAPTER XII 


j 


THE PASSAGE 

I T was the night of April 29, 1915, that Martin 
Blake, clerk, sat at the Cohasset’s cabin table 
and heard the tale of Fire Mountain. It was 
on the morning of July 6, 1915, that Martin Blake, 
seaman, bent over the Cohasset’s foreroyal yard¬ 
arm and fisted the canvas, with the shrill whistle of 
the squall in his ears. 

The interim had fashioned a new Martin Blake. 
In the bronzed and active figure, dungaree clad', 
sheath-knife on hip, who so casually balanced him¬ 
self on the swaying foot-rope, there was little in 
common, so far as outward appearance went, with 
the dapper, white-faced clerk of yore. 

He completed furling the sail. Then he straight¬ 
ened and swept the sea with keen, puckered eyes. 
It was a scrutiny that was rewarded. Ahead, across 
the horizon sky, floated a dark smudge, like the 
smoke-trail of a steamer, and beneath it was a black 
speck. It was no ship, but land, he knew. It was 
the expected landfall, the volcanic island, there 
ahead, and he, of all of the ship’s company, first 
perceived it from his lofty perch. 

He sent the welcome hail to the deck below- 

“Land ho!” 

He leaned over the lee yard-arm, grasped a back- 

160 



THE PASSAGE 


161 


stay, and commenced a rapid and precipitous descent 
to the deck. A few months before, he would have 
descended laboriously and fearfully by way of the 
shrouds; sliding down a backstay would then have 
rubbed his palms raw, and visited giddiness upon 
him. But now his hands were rope calloused, and 
his wits height proof. He was now the equal, for 
agility and daring, with any man on the ship. He 
had won, without much trouble, a seaman’s niche 
on the ship. 

In truth, Martin was to the life born, and he 
took to the sea like a duck to water. He won quickly 
through the inevitable series of mishaps that rubbed 
the greenhorn mark away; and he gleefully meas¬ 
ured his progress by his ever-growing ability to out- 
pull, outclimb, and outdare the polyglot denizens of 
the brigantine’s forecastle. 

He had expert coaching to urge his education on 
apace. He knew the many hopes and their various 
offices before he was two weeks on board; and he 
was able to move about aloft, by day or night, quite 
fearlessly. By the end of the first month he was 
standing his regular wheel trick. And, as the weeks 
passed, he gained more than a cursory knowledge 
of the leverages and wind surfaces that controlled 
and propelled his little floating world. 

He applied himself earnestly to master his new 
craft. It was the life he had lusted for, and the 
mere physical spaciousness of his new outlook was a 
delight. He contrasted it with his former city- 
cramped, office-ridden existence. 

He rejoiced openly as each day lengthened the 


162 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


distance between him and his former slavery. On 
the very first day he had mounted to the deck to 
commence work, the morning after the meeting in 
the cabin, he had enacted a ceremony that, to his 
own rollicking mind, placed a definite period to his 
old life. He came on deck bravely bedecked in his 
new slop-chest clothes, a suit of shiny, unstained 
dungarees. 

He held carefully in his hands a black derby hat, 
and a starched collar of the “choker” variety. He 
carried the articles to the ship's side and cast them 
into the sea. Then he declaimed his freedom. 

“They were the uniform of my servitude—badges 
of my clerkhood! I have finished with them. Into 
the ocean they go! Now—ho for the life on the 
billowy wave!” 

“Very good!” the mate applauded his act and 
words. Her next words were an incisive and frosty 
command. “You may commence at once your life 
on the billowy wave! Go for’rd and stand by with 
the watch!” 

Martin went forward, and he began to learn the 
why and wdierefore of things in his new world. He 
learned to jump to an order called out by that 
baffling and entrancing person aft, learned to haul 
in unison, to laugh at hard knocks and grin at pain. 

He learned to cultivate humility, and to mount the 
poop on the lee side w 7 hen duty took him there. He 
learned the rigid etiquette of the sea, and addressed 
that blooming, desirable woman with the formal 
prefix, “mister.” 

His body toughened, his mind broadened, his soul 


THE PASSAGE 


163 


expanded. But his heart also expanded, and it was 
unruly. Ruth was such a jolly chum—off duty. On 
duty, she was a martinet. Below, she was the merry 
life of the “happy family.” On deck, she lorded it 
haughtily from the high place of the poop, and 
answered to the name of “mister”! 

The Cohasset, Martin discovered, was manned by 
a total of eighteen souls. Besides the five persons 
aft, there were a sailmaker, a carpenter, a Chinese 
cook and ten forecastle hands. His first impression 
—that the crew was composed of wild men—was 
partially borne out. Of the ten men in the fore¬ 
castle, but four were Caucasian—two Portuguese 
from the Azores, a Finn and an Australian—and 
the quartet were almost as outlandish in their ap¬ 
pearance as the other six of the crew. 

The remaining six were foregathered from the 
length and breadth of the Pacific. There was a 
Maori from New Zealand, a Koriak tribesman from 
Kamchatka, two Kanakas, a stray from Ponape, and 
an Aleut. The six natives, Martin discovered, had 
all been with the ship for years, were old retainers 
of Captain Dabney. The four w T hite men, and the 
cook, who rejoiced in the name of Charley Bo Yip, 
had been newly shipped in San Francisco. 

Martin’s watchmates were five of the natives. 
Martin suspected they composed the mate’s watch 
because they were all old, tractable hands. They 
were the Maori, Rimoa, a strapping, middle-aged 
man, Oomak, the Koriak, the man with the tattooed 
and scarified face whom Martin had seen at the 
wheel the first day at sea, the two Kanakas, and the 


164 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


Aleut. They talked to each other, he found, in a 
strange pidgin—a speech composed mainly of verbs 
and profanity, a language that would have shocked 
a purist to a premature grave. But Martin found 
his watchmates to be a brave, capable, though rather 
silent group. 

Martin’s initiation into the joys of sea life was 
a strenuous one. The gale that had sent the Co - 
hasset flying from San Francisco, died out, as Ruth 
had predicted. Followed a couple of days of calm. 

Then came another heavy wind, in the boatswain’s 
words, “a snortin’ norther,” and for three days 
Martin’s watches on deck were cold, wet and haz¬ 
ardous. He blindly followed his watchmates over 
lurching, slippery decks, in obedience to unintel¬ 
ligible orders. He was rolled about by shipped 
seas, and his new oilskins received a stern baptism. 
H is clerk’s hands became raw and swollen from 
hauling on wet ropes, his unaccustomed muscles 
ached cruelly, the sea water smarted the half-healed 
wound on his head, now covered with a strip of 
plaster. But he stood the gaff, and worked on. And 
he was warmly conscious of the unspoken approval 
of both forecastle and cabin. 

During that time of stress he learned something 
of the sailor’s game of carrying on of sail. The 
wind was fair, and by the blind captain’s orders, 
they held on to every bit of canvas the spars would 
stand. The little vessel rushed madly through the 
black, howling nights, and the leaden, fierce days, 
with every timber protesting the strain, and every 


THE PASSAGE 


165 


piece of cordage adding its shrill, thrummed note to 
the storm’s mighty symphony. 

During that time Martin first proved his mettle. 
He fought down his coward fears, and for the first 
time ventured aloft, feeling his way through the 
pitch-black night to the reeling yard-arm, to battle, 
with his watch, the heavy, threshing sail that re¬ 
quired reefing. After the test, when he came below 
to the warm cabin, he thrilled to the core at his 
officer’s curt praise. 

“You’ll do!” she muttered in his ear. 

But it was not all storm and battle. Quite the 
reverse. The calm succeeded the storm. Martin 
came on deck one morning to view a bright sky and 
a sea of undulating glass. Astern, above the horizon, 
were fleecy clouds—they afterwards rode high, and 
became his friends, those mares’ tails—and out of 
that horizon, from the northeast, came occasional 
light puffs of wind. 

Captain Dabney, pacing his familiar poop with 
firm, sure steps, turned his sightless face constantly 
to those puffs. There was upon the ship an air of 
expectancy. And that afternoon Martin beheld an 
exhibition of the old man’s sea-canniness; he sud¬ 
denly stopped his steady pacing, stood motionless a 
moment, sniffing of the air astern, and then wheeled 
upon Ruth. 

“To the braces, mister! Here she comes!” he 
snapped. 

She came with tentative, caressing puffs at first, 
each one a little stronger than the last. Then, with 


166 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


a sigh, a dark blue ripple dancing before her, she 
arrived, enveloped and passed them. 

The brig trembled to the embrace and careened 
gently, as if nestling into a beloved's arms. About 
the decks were smiling faces and joyous shouts, and 
the sails were trimmed with a swinging chantey. 
For the Cohasset had picked up the northeast trades. 

That night the wind blew, and the next day, and 
the next, and the next week, and the weeks follow¬ 
ing. Ever strong and fresh, out of the northeast, 
came the mighty trade-wind. Nine knots, ten knots, 
eleven knots—the brig foamed before it, into the 
southwest, edging eleven knots—the brig foamed 
before it, into the southwest, edging away always 
to the westward. 

Every sail was spread. Sails were even impro¬ 
vised to supplement the vast press the ship carried, v 
a balloon jib for the bows, and a triangular piece 
of canvas that the boatswain labored over, and 
which he spread above the square topsails on the 
main. He was mightily proud of his handicraft, and 
walked about, rubbing his huge hands and gazing up 
at the little sail. 

“An inwention o’ my own,” he proudly confided 
to Martin. “Swiggle me stiff, if the Flyin’ Cloud 
’as anything on us, for we’ve rigged a bloody moon- 
s’il, says I.” 

Day by day the air grew warmer, as they neared 
the tropics. One day they sighted a school of skim¬ 
ming flying fish; that night several flew on board 
and were delivered into Charley Bo Yip’s ready 


THE PASSAGE 


167 


hands, and Martin feasted for the first time upon 
that dainty morsel. Bonito and porpoise played 
about the bows. 

Martin could not at first understand how a ship 
that was bound for a distant corner of the cold 
Bering Sea came to be sailing into the tropics. But 
the boatswain enlightened him. 

“It’s a case o’ the longest way being the shortest, 
lad. The winds, says I. We ’ave to make a ’alf 
circle to the south, using these trades, to make the 
Siberian coast this time o’ year. We’re makin’ a 
good passage—swiggle me, if Carew an’ his Dawn 
’ave won past, the way we’re sailin’! And the old 
man reckons seventy days, outside, afore ’e makes 
’is landfall o’ Fire Mountain. Coming ’ome, now, 
v/ill be different. We’ll sail the great circle, the 
course the mail-boats follow, an’ w T e’ll likely make 
the passage in ’alf the time. We’ll run the easting 
down, up there in the ’igh latitudes with the wester¬ 
lies be’ind us.” 

They were bright, sunny days, those trade-wind 
days, and wonderful nights. The ship practically 
sailed herself. A slackening and tightening of sheets, 
night and morning, and a watch-end trimming of 
yards, was all the labor required of the crew. 

So, regular shipboard work, and Martin’s educa¬ 
tion, went forward. “Chips” plied his cunning hand 
outside his workshop door; “Sails” spread his work 
upon the deck abaft the house. 

A crusty, talkative, kind-hearted fellow was Sails. 
He was an old Scot, named MacLean; and the native 
burr in his speech had been softened by many years 


168 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


of roving. He always took particular pains to in¬ 
form any listener that he was a MacLean, and that 
the Clan MacLean was beyond doubt the foremost, 
the oldest, and the best family that favored this 
wretched, hopeless world with residence. He hinted 
darkly at a villainous conspiracy that had deprived 
him of his estates and lairdships in dear old Storno¬ 
way, Ronnie Scotland. He was a pessimist of parts, 
and he furnished the needed shade that made 
brighter Martin’s carefree existence. 

MacLean had followed Captain Dabney for six 
years—most of the crew were even longer in the 
ship—and before joining the Coliasset, he had, to 
Martin’s intense interest, made a voyage with Wild 
Bob Carew. 

“Och, lad, ye no ken the black heart o’ the mon,” 
he would say to Martin. “Wild Bob! ’Tis ‘Black 
Bob’ they should call the caird. The black-hearted 
robber! Aye, I sailed a voyage wi’ the deil. Didna’ 
he beach me wi’oot a penny o’ my pay on Puka Puka, 
in the Marquesas? An’ didna’ I stop there, ma¬ 
rooned wi’ the natives, till Captain Dabney took me 
off? Forty-six, five an’ thrippence he robbed me of. 

“I am a MacLean, and a Laird by rights, but I 
could no afoord the loss o’ that siller. Oh, he is the 
proud deil! His high stomach could no stand my 
plain words. Forty quid, odd, he owed me, but I 
could no hold my tongue when he raided the cutter 
and made off wi’ the shell. The MacLeans were 
ne’er pirates, ye ken. They are honest men and 
kirkgoers—though I’ll no pretend in the old days 
they didna’ lift a beastie or so. 


THE PASSAGE 


169 


“I talked up to Carew’s face, an’ told him a 
MacLean could no approve such work, an’ I told 
him the MacLeans were better folk than he, for all 
his high head. Ye ken, lad, the MacLeans are the 
best folk o’ Scotland. When Noah came oot the 
ark, ’twas the MacLeans met him and helped him 
to dry land. 

“On Puka Puka beach he dumped me, wi’oot my 
dunnage, and wi’oot a cent o’ the siller was due me. 
Och, he is a bad mon, yon Carew, wi’ many a mon’s 
blood on his hands ! He has sold his soul to the deil, 
and Old Nick saves his own. He is a wild mon wi’ 
women, and he is mad aboot the sweet lassie aft. 
Didna’ he try to make off wi’ her in Dutch Llarbor, 
three years ago? And didna’ the old mon stop 
him wi’ a bullet through the shoulder? And now he 
tries again in Frisco! 

“The lass blooms fairer each day—and Carew’s 
madness grows. Ye’ll meet him again, lad, if you 
stay wi’ the ship. Wi’ Old Nick to help him, ’tis 
black fortune he’ll bring to the lass, ye’ll see.” And 
Sails would croak out dismal prophecies concerning 
Wild Bob Carew’s future activities, so long as Mar¬ 
tin would listen. 

Indeed, the adventurer of the schooner Dawn was 
ever present in the thoughts of the brig’s comple¬ 
ment. He was a real and menacing shadow; even 
Martin was affected by the lowering cloud. The old 
hands in the crew all knew him personally, and knew 
of his mad infatuation for their beloved mate. In 
the cabin, it was accepted that he would cross their 
path again, though it was hoped that Fire Mountain 


170 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


would be reached and the treasure secured before 
that event occurred. But, save for an ever-growing 
indignation against the haughty Englishman, for 
daring to aspire to Ruth LeMoyne’s hand, Martin 
gave the matter small thought; he was too busy 
living the moment. 

Concurrent with his education in seamanship, 
progressed Martin’s instruction in the subtle and 
disquieting game of hearts. Ruth attended to this 
particular instruction unconsciously, perhaps, but 
none the less effectively. 

Of course, it was inevitable. When a romantic- 
minded young man aids in the thrilling rescue of an 
imprisoned maid, that young man is going to look 
upon that young woman with more than passing 
interest. When the maid in question happens to be 
extremely pretty, his interest is naturally enhanced. 
When he is thrown into a close shipboard intimacy 
with her, and discovers her to be at once an exacting 
tyrant and a jolly chum, when the maid is possessed 
of a strange and exciting history, and congenial 
tastes, when she is not unaware of her own excel¬ 
lence, and, at times, not disinclined to coquet a trifle 
before a young, virile male—then, the romantic 
young man’s blood experiences a permanent rise in 
temperature, and there are moments when his heart 
lodges uncomfortably in his throat, and moments 
when it beats a devil’s own tattoo upon his ribs. 

And when there are wonderful tropic nights, and 
bright eyes by his side that outrival the stars over¬ 
head, and a glorious tenor voice softly singing songs 


THE PASSAGE 


171 


of love nearby—then, the heady wine of life works a 
revolution in a romantic young man’s being, and 
in the turmoil he is accorded his first blinding glimpse 
of the lover’s heaven of fulfilled desire, and his first 
glimpse also of the lover’s hell of doubting despair. 
A man, a maid, a soft, starry night upon the water, 
a song of love—of course it was inevitable! 

Martin’s previous experience with the tender pas¬ 
sion was not extensive. Circumstance, shyness and 
fastidiousness had caused him to ignore most of the 
rather frequent opportunities to philander that his 
good looks and lively imagination created, and upon 
the rare occasions when he had paused, it was be¬ 
cause of curiosity—a curiosity quickly sated. 

Of course, he had been in love. At twelve years 
he had betrothed himself to the girl who sat across 
the aisle, at fifteen, he exchanged rings and vows 
with a lady of fourteen who lived in the next block, 
at seventeen he conceived a violent affection for the 
merry Irish girl who presided over his uncle’s 
kitchen—but Norah scoffed, and remained true to 
the policeman on the beat, and Martin, for a space, 
embraced the more violent teachings of anarchy and 
dreamed with gloomy glee of setting off a dynamite 
bomb under a certain uniformed prop of law and 
order. 

The uncle died, and Martin was henceforth too 
busy earning a living to indulge in sentimental ad¬ 
ventures. After a time, as he grew to manhood 
and his existence became more assured, he became a 
reader of stories; and unconsciously he commenced 
to measure the girls he met with the entrancing 


1T2 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


heroines of his fiction. The girls suffered by com¬ 
parison, and Martin's interest in them remained 
Platonic. 

By degrees he became possessor of that refuge 
of lonely bachelorhood, an ideal—a dream girl, 
compounded equally of meditation and books. She 
was a wonderful girl, Martin’s dream girl; she 
possessed all the virtues, and no faults, and she was 
very, very beautiful. At first she was a blond maid, 
and when she framed herself before his eyes, out 
of the smoke curling upward from his pipe, she was 
a vision of golden tresses, and rosy cheeks, and 
clear blue eyes. 

But then came Miss Pincher, the manicure maid, 
to reside at Martin’s boarding-house. Miss Pin- 
cher’s hair was very, very yellow—there were dark 
hints about that boarding-house board anent royal 
colors coming out of drug-store bottles—and her 
eyes were a cold, hard blue. She cast her hard, 
bold eyes upon Martin. She -was a feminist in love. 
Martin fled horrified before her determined, auda¬ 
cious wooing. 

His blood idol was overthrown, his ideal slain. 
He went to bed with the stark corpse, and awoke to 
contemplate with satisfaction a new image, a brood¬ 
ing, soulful brunette. 

Then, Martin suddenly discovered that his ideal 
was neither a rosy Daughter of the Dawn, nor a 
tragic Queen of the Night—she was a merry-faced, 
neutral-tinted Sister of the Afternoon, a girl with 
brown hair, so dark as to be black by night, and 
big brown eyes. A girl with a rich contralto voice 



THE PASSAGE 


173 


that commanded or cajoled in a most distracting 
fashion. A girl who commanded respect by her mas¬ 
tery of a masculine profession, yet who thereby sac¬ 
rificed none of her appealing femininity. A girl 
named Ruth LeMoyne. 

There was nothing staid or conservative about 
the manner of Martin’s receiving this intelligence. 
It was his nature to fall in love with a hard bump, 
completely and without reservation. He recognized 
Ruth as the girl of his dreams the very first moment 
he obtained a good daylight look at her—that is, 
upon the afternoon he first mounted to the Cohas- 
set’s deck, and was welcomed by the smiling, lithe¬ 
some queen of the storm. Blonde and brunette had 
in that instant been completely erased from his 
memory; he had recognized in the mate of the Co- 
hasset the companion of his fanciful hours, in every 
feature she was the girl of his dreams. 

There are people who say that every person has 
his, or her, preordained mate somewhere in the 
world. They say that the true love, the big love, is 
only possible when these predestined folk meet. 
They say that love flames instantly at such a meet¬ 
ing, and that the couple will recognize each other 
though the whole social scale divide them. They 
say that Love will conquer all obstacles and unite the 
yearning pair. They are a sentimental, optimistic 
lot, who thus declaim. Martin, when he thought the 
matter over, inclined to their belief. Only—the 
trouble was that Ruth did not seem to exactly recog¬ 
nize or welcome her predestined fate. 


174 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


But there is another theory of love. Any shiny- 
pated wise man will give the formula. 

“Love at first sight! Bosh!” says the wise man. 
“Love is merely a strong, complex emotion inspired 
in persons by propinquity plus occasion!” 

Perhaps. Certainly, the emotion Martin felt 
from the time he spoke his first word to Ruth 
LeMoyne, was strong enough and complex enough 
to tinge his every thought. And the propinquity 
was close enough and piquant enough to flutter the 
heart of a monk—which Martin was not. And a 
headlong young man like Martin Blake could be 
trusted to make the occasion. 

He made several occasions. His journey along 
Cupid's path was filled with the sign-posts of those 
occasions. 

Off duty, Ruth and he were boon companions, 
during the rather rare hours when she was not in 
attendance upon the blind captain or asleep. Mar¬ 
tin stinted himself of rest, Ruth was too old a 
sailor for that. 

The dog-watches, and, after they had gained the 
fine weather, the early hours of the first watch, were 
their hours of communion. They eagerly discussed 
books, plays, dreams, the sea, their quest, and them¬ 
selves. They called each other by their first names, 
in comradely fashion. Oftentimes Little Billy joined 
them and enlivened the session with his pungent 
remarks, or, on the fine evenings, treated them with 
wonderful, melting songs. 

Martin had the uneasy feeling that Little Billy, 
of all the men on the ship, divined his passion for 


THE PASSAGE 


175 


Ruth. He seemed to feel, also, that Little Billy 
was, in a sense, a rival; with a lover’s insight, he 
read the dumb adoration in the hunchback’s eyes 
whenever the latter looked at, or spoke of, the mate. 

But, of course, Ruth knew what was in Martin’s 
mind and heart. Trust a daughter of Eve to read 
the light in a man’s eyes, be she ever so unpractised 
by experience. It is her heritage. Nor did Martin 
attempt concealment of his love for very long. A 
dashing onslaught was Martin’s nature. 

Ruth teased him and deftly parried his crude at¬ 
tempts to make the grand passion the sole topic 
of their chats. She would hold him at arm’s length, 
and then for a swift moment drop her guard. It 
would be but a trifle—a fugitive touching of shoul¬ 
ders, perhaps—but it would shake Martin to his 
soul. 

She would hold their talk to commonplaces, and 
then, as their hour ended, would transfix him with a 
fleeting glance that seemed to bear more than a 
message of friendship, and he would stand looking 
after her, weak and gasping, with thumping heart. 

One evening they stood together on the forecastle 
head, watching the setting sun. Sky and sea, to the 
west, were ablaze for a brief space with ever-chang¬ 
ing gorgeous colors. The sheer beauty of the scene, 
added to the disturbing nearness of his heart’s wish, 
forced Martin’s rose-tinted thoughts to speech. 

“I see our future there, Ruth,” he said, pointing 
to the rioting sunset colors. “See—that golden, 
castle-shaped cloud! We shall live there. Those 
orange-and-purple billows surrounding are our 


176 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


broad meadows. It is the country we are bound 
for, the land of happiness, and its name is-” 

“Its name is ‘dreamland’!” finished Ruth, with a 
light laugh. ‘ r And never will you arrive at your 
voyage’s end, friend Martin, for ‘dreamland’ is 
always over the horizon.” 

She looked directly into Martin’s eyes; the brief 
dusk was upon them, and her face was a soft, waver¬ 
ing outline, but her eyes were aglow with the gleam 
that set Martin’s blood afire. Her eyes seemed to 
bear a message from the Ruth that lived below the 
surface Ruth—from the newly stirring woman be¬ 
neath the girlish breast. 

It w^as a challenge, that brief glance. It made 
Martin catch his breath. He choked upon the words 
that tried tumultuously to burst from his lips. 

“Oh, Ruth, let me tell you—” he commenced. 

Her laugh interrupted him again, and the eyes he 
looked into were again the merry, teasing eyes of 
his comrade. With her next words she wilfully mis¬ 
understood him and his allusion concerning the sun¬ 
set. 

“Indeed, Martin, that cloud the sunset lightened 
is shaped nothing like Fire Mountain, which is a 
very gloomy looking place, and one I should not like 
to take up residence in. And no bright meadows 
surround it—only the gray, foggy sea. Hardly a 
land of happiness. Though, indeed, if we salvage 
that treasure, we will have the means, each of us, 
to buy the happiness money provides.” 

“Confound Fire Mountain and its treasure!” ex¬ 
claimed Martin. “You know I didn’t mean that, 



THE PASSAGE 


177 


Ruth! I was talking figuratively, poetically, the way 
Little Billy talks. I meant just you and I, and that 
sunset was the symbol of our love.” 

But he was talking to the air. Ruth was speeding 
aft, her light laughter rippling behind her. 

Another night, when the brig was near the south¬ 
ern limit of her long traverse, they stood in the 
shadow, at the break of the poop, and together 
scanned the splendid sky. Ruth was the teacher; 
she knew each blazing constellation, and she pointed 
them out for Martin’s benefit. But Martin, it must 
be admitted, was more interested by the pure profile 
revealed by a slanting moonbeam than by the de¬ 
tails of astronomy and his mumbled, half-conscious 
replies revealed his inattention. 

After a while, she gave over the lesson, and they 
stood silent, side by side, leaning on the rail, cap¬ 
tivated by the witchery of the tropic night. 

The heavens were packed with the big, blazing 
stars of the low latitudes, and the round moon, low 
on the horizon, cut the dark, quiet sea with a wide 
path of silver light. Aloft, the steady breeze 
hummed softly; and the ship broke her way through 
the water with a low, even purr, and the sea curled 
away from the forefoot like an undulating silver 
serpent. The wake was a lane of moonlight, barred 
by golden streaks of phosphorescence. 

On the ship, the decks were a patchwork of bright, 
eerie light and black shadow. The bellying sails and 
the woof of cordage aloft, seemed unsubstantial, 
like a gossamer weaving. The quiet ship noises, and 


178 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

the subdued murmur of voices from forward seemed 
unreal, uncanny. 

The unearthly beauty of the night touched strange 
fancies to life in Martin’s mind—he was on a phan¬ 
tom ship, sailing on an unreal sea. The desirable, 
disturbing presence so close to his side enhanced his 
agitation. 

His shoulder touched her shoulder, and he could 
feel the gentle rise and fall of her breast, as she 
breathed. The bodily contact made his head swim. 
When she raised her head to stare at the sky, a 
fugitive moonbeam caressed her face and touched 
her briefly with a w r ondrous beauty. Her curved, 
parted lips were almost within reach of his own at 
such instants; he had but to bend swiftly forward! 
Martin was all atremble at the daring thought, and 
he clutched the rail to steady himself. 

Behind them, a golden voice suddenly commenced 
to sing an age-old song of love, “Annie Laurie.” 

Softly the hunchback sang; his voice seemed to 
melt into and become one with the hum of the breeze 
aloft and the snore of the forefoot thrusting apart 
the waters. It seemed to Martin that the whole 
world was singing, singing of love. His heart 
thumped, his breath came quickly, pin-points of light 
swam before his eyes. 

The girl trembled against his shoulder. Martin 
leaned eagerly forward, and their eyes met. They 
both stiffened at that electric contact. His eyes were 
ablaze with passion, purposeful, masterful; and in 
her eyes he again glimpsed the fresh-awakened 
woman, beckoning, elusive, fearful. For a brief in- 



THE PASSAGE 


179 


stant they stared at each other, man and woman, 
souls bared. But that blinding moment seemed to 
Martin to encompass eternity. The songster’s 
liquid notes fell about them, and they were en¬ 
thralled. 

The song ended. Quite without conscious move¬ 
ment, Martin put his arms about Ruth and drew 
her into a close embrace. He pressed his hot lips 
to hers, and with a thrill so keen it felt like a stab, 
he realized her lips returned the pressure. 

It lasted but a second, this heaven. The girl burst 
backward out of his embrace. Martin’s arms fell 
to his sides, nerveless, and he stood panting, tongue- 
tied with emotion. Nor did he have the chance to 
master himself and speak the words he wished, for 
Ruth, with a half sob, half laugh, turned and sped 
across the deck, and through the open alleyway door, 
into the cabin. 

The next watch Ruth stood upon her dignity, and 
her manner was unusually haughty toward her slave. 
And the next day, in the dog-watch, he discovered 
that the old comradeship w T as fled. She was shy and 
silent, and she listened to his stammered apology 
with averted eyes and pink ears. 

When Martin attempted to supplement his 
apology with ardent words, she fled straightway. 
And never again during the passage did Martin 
find an opportunity to avow his love. He dis¬ 
covered that somehow Little Billy, or the boatswain, 
or Captain Dabney was always present at their 
talks. Her elusiveness made him very wretched at 
times. But then, occasionally, he would surprise 


180 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


her looking at him, and the light in her eyes would 
send him to the seventh heaven of delight. 

There came the day when the little vessel reached 
the southern point of the great arc she was sailing 
across the Pacific. Martin came on deck to find the 
bows turned northward, toward the Bering, and the 
yards braced sharp to catch the slant from the dying 
trades. 

The Cohasset raced northward, though not as 
swiftly as she had raced southward. The winds 
were light, though generally fair, and the brig made 
the most of them. 

The weather grew steadily cooler; the brilliant 
tropics were left behind, and they entered the gray 
wastes of the North Pacific. Forward and aft were 
smiling faces and optimistic prophecies, for the ship 
was making a record passage. The captain’s original 
estimate of seventy days between departure and 
landfall was steadily pared by the hopeful ones. 
The boatswain, especially, was delighted. 

“Seventy days! Huh!” he declared. “Why, 
swiggle me stiff, we’ll take the days off that, or my 
name ain’t Tom ’Enery! ’Ere we are, forty-one 
days out, an’ already w r e’re in sight o’ ice, an’ runnin’ 
free over the nawstiest bit o’ water between ’ere an’ 
the ’Orn! It’ll be Bering Sea afore the week out, 
lad! And afore another week, we’ll ’ave fetched the 
bloody wolcano and got away again with that grease! 
Bob Carew? Huh—the Dawn may ’ave the ’eels of 
us—though, swiggle me, what with my moons’il, an’ 
that balloon jib, I’d want a tryout afore admitting it 


THE PASSAGE 


181 


final—but it ain’t on the cards that Carew ’as ’ad our 
luck with the winds. ’E’s somewhere a week or two 
astern o’ us, I bet. We’ll ’ave the bleedin’ swag, an’ 
be ’alf way ’ome, before ’e lifts Fire Mountain—if 
he does know where the bloomin’ place is! 

“Ow, lad, just think o’ all that money in a lump 
o’ ruddy grease! Ow, what a snorkin’ fine time I’ll 
’ave, when we get back to Frisco! ’Am an’ eggs, 
an’ a bottle o’ wine every bloomin’ meal for a week! 
Regular toff, I’ll be, swiggle me—with one of them 
fancy girls adancin’, and one o’ them longhaired 
blokes afiddlin’ while I scoffs!” 

Only old Sails declined to be heartened by bright 
expectations. He wagged his gray head solemnly. 

“The passage is no made till we are standing off 
yon island,” he warned Martin. “Aye, well I re¬ 
member the smoking mountain. Didna’ that big, red 
loon aft split a new t’gan’-s’il the very next day, wi’ 
his crazy carrying on of sail? Aye, I mind the place 
—a drear place, lad, w” an evil face. I dinna like 
to see the lassie gang ashore there, for all the siller 
ye say the stuff is worth, an’ I ken well she’ll be in 
the first boat. ’Tis a wicked place, the fire mount, 
and I ha’ dreamed thrice o’ the feyed. Nay, I’ll 
tell ye no m ( ore, lad. But do you give no mind to 
yon talk o’ Bob Carew being left behind. He is the 
de’il’s son, and the old boy helps his own. But keep 
ye a sharp eye on the lass.” 

No more than this half mystical jargon could 
Martin extract from the dour Scot. MacLean 
would shake his head and mumble that feydom 


182 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


brooded over the brig and hint darkly of battle 
and bloodshed. 

That night, in the privacy of their berth, Martin 
mentioned MacLean’s dismal croakings to Little 
Billy. He was minded to jest about the pessimist, 
but, to his great surprise, the hunchback listened to 
his recountal with a very grave face. But after 
a moment Little Billy’s smile returned, and he 
explained. 

“Sails is a Highland Scot,” he told Martin. “Of 
course he is superstitious, as well as a constitutional 
croaker. He claims to be a seventh son, or some¬ 
thing like that, and to be able to foretell death. 
When he speaks of a ‘feyed’ man, he means one over 
whom he sees hovering the shadow of death. He 
didn’t say who was feyed, did he?” 

“No, he wouldn’t talk further,” answered Martin. 
“What bosh!” 

“Yes, of course,” assented Little Billy. “You and 
I, with our minds freed of superstition, may laugh 
■—but Sails, I think, believes in his visions. And, 
to tell you the truth, your words gave me something 
of a start at first. I have known MacLean a long 
time, you know. Last voyage, he told me one day 
that Lomai, a Fiji boy, was feyed, and that very 
night Lomai fell from the royal yard and was 
smashed to death on the deck. And once before 
that, before I became one of the happy family, he 
foretold a death to the captain. I am glad you 
told me about this. He didn’t mention a name?” 

“No. Just said he had dreamed three times of 
the feyed,” said Martin, impressed in spite of him¬ 
self. 


THE PASSAGE 


183 


“I’ll speak to him, myself,” went on Little Billy. 
“Won’t do any good, though. He only tells one 
person of his foresight, and he has chosen you this 
time. But I wish—oh, what is wrong with us! Of 
course it is bosh! The old grumbler has indigestion 
from eating too much. I am going to read awhile, 
Martin, if the light won’t bother you. Don’t feel 
sleepy.” 

The hunchback clambered into his upper bunk 
and composed himself, book in hand. Martin fin¬ 
ished his disrobing and rolled into his bunk, beneath 
the other. He was tired, but he didn’t go to sleep 
directly. His mind was busy. Not with thoughts 
of Sails and his ghostly warning—Martin had not 
been long enough at sea to be tinged with the sailor’s 
inevitable superstition, and he was stanchly skepti¬ 
cal of supernatural warnings. Martin lay awake 
thinking of the deformed little man, ostensibly read¬ 
ing, a few feet above him. 

For some nights, now, the hunchback had read 
late of nights, because he “didn’t feel sleepy.” 
Daily, Little Billy’s lean face grew more lined and 
aged; in the past week his appearance had taken 
on a half-score years. He still retained his smile, 
but it was even wan at times., In his eyes lurked 
misery. Martin knew that the books he took to bed 
were mainly a subterfuge to enable Little Billy to 
keep the light burning. For Little Billy was waging 
a battle with his ancient enemy, and he had grown 
afraid of the dark. 

A week before, he had abruptly said to Martin: 

“I gave the key of the medicine-chest to Ruth 


184 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


today. I won't be able to get at that booze, any¬ 
way.” To Martin’s startled look, he added: “I 
want you to know, so you won't be surprised by the 
capers I am liable to cut for a while. You see, I am 
dancing to old Fiddler Booze’s tune. I want to go 
on a drunk—every part of me craves alcohol. And 
I am determined to keep sober. 

“Oh, it is nothing to startle you, Martin. I 
never get violent. Only, I'll be in plain hell for a 
couple of weeks. Then the craving will go away, 
to return at ever shorter intervals, until I do get 
ashore on a good bust. No, I'll keep sober till I 
reach shore again—whatever comes. No raiding 
the bosun's locker for shellac or w r ood-alcohol this 
voyage.” 

“Good Lord, you wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed 
Martin. 

“Oh, yes—I did it once,” confessed Little Billy 
easily. “Indeed, a swig of shellac punch is drink for 
the gods; my very soul writhes now at the thought 
of it. But, I'll admit, the wood-alcohol beverage 
conceals complications. It was the captain, and his 
little stomach-pump, that brought me to that time. 
But no more of such frolicking on board ship. 
That episode occurred during my first year with 
Captain Dabney. Never since have I succumbed to 
the craving while at sea. Oh, I'll be all right this 
time—only don’t be startled if you hear me talking 
to myself, or roaming about in the middle of the 
night.” 

That was all that passed between them. But 


THE PASSAGE 


185 


during the days following Martin’s eyes often rested 
on the other with curiosity and sympathy. It was a 
new experience for Martin, to be room-mated with 
a dipsomaniac, and besides Little Billy had grown 
to be a very dear friend, indeed. Everybody on the 
ship loved the sunny hunchback. 

Little Billy’s happy face grew bleak, and many fine 
lines appeared about the corners of his eyes and 
mouth. He was suffering keenly, Martin knew. 
Even now, he could hear the uneasy, labored breath¬ 
ing of the man in the bunk above. 

It was a strange, changeable, eager face, Little 
Billy had. It seemed to vary in age according to 
the hunchback’s mood; these days he looked forty, 
but Martin had seen him appear a youthful twenty 
during an exceptionally happy moment. Actually, 
Martin learned during the passage, Little Billy Cor¬ 
coran’s age was thirty-one. 

He learned, moreover, that Little Billy was the 
son, and sole surviving relative, of Judge Corcoran, 
a famous California politician in his day. Judge 
Corcoran had been a noted “good fellow” and a 
famous man with the bottle. And his son was a 
hunchback and a dipsomaniac. Little Billy was 
blessed with a fine mind, and he had taken his degree 
at Yale, but throughout his hectic life the thirst he 
was born with proved his undoing. 

“I am an oddity among a nation of self-made 
men,” Little Billy once told Martin. “They all com¬ 
menced at the bottom and ascended fortune’s ladder, 
whereas I started at the top and descended. And 
what a descent! I hit every rung of that ladder with 


186 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


a heavy bump, and jarred Old Lady Grundy every 
time. I was the crying scandal, the horrible example, 
of my native heath. That old rogue, my father, used 
to boast that he never got drunk—I used to boast 
that I never got sober. Finally, I bumped my last 
bump and found myself at the bottom. And there 
I stayed, until Captain Dabney, and the dear girl, 
pulled me out of the mire.” 

Almost literally true, this last, for Martin learned 
that five years before, Captain Dabney had salvaged 
Little Billy off the beach at Suva, a dreadful scare¬ 
crow of a man, and Ruth’s nursing, and the clean sea 
life, had built a new William Corcoran. But the 
appetite for the drink was uneradicable, and the 
genial hunchback’s life was a series of losing battles 
with his hereditary curse. 

But the boatswain was proved a poor prophet. 
Not that week, nor the next, did they reach Fire 
Mountain. The Cohasset crossed the path of the 
Orient mail-packets, the great circle sailers, and they 
entered their last stretch of Pacific sailing, above 
the forty-eighth parallel. 

Captain Dabney’s objective was the little-used 
gateway to the Bering that lies between Copper 
Island and the outlying Aleuts. They sailed upon 
a wild and desolate waste of leaden sea; a sea 
shrouded frequently with fog, and plentifully popu¬ 
lated with those shipmen’s horrors, foot-loose ice¬ 
bergs. And their fair sailing abruptly terminated. 

It began in the space of a watch. The glass 
tumbled, the wind hauled around to foul, and it 


THE PASSAGE 


187 


began to blow viciously. For days they rode hove to. 

That was but the beginning. For weeks, they 
obtained only an occasional favorable slant of wind, 
and these, as often as not, in the shape of short, 
sharp gales. They made the most of them; the 
blind «^an on the poop coached cannily, and Ruth 
and the boatswain carried on to the limit. 

Martin, once again, as in the days leaving San 
Francisco, saw the smother of canvas fill the decks 
with water. But such sailing was rare, and of short 
duration. Always, succeeding, came the heavy slap 
in the face from the fierce wind god of the North. 

Martin labored mightily, in company with his 
fellows, it being a constant round of “reef, shake 
out, and come about.” The days were sharp, and 
the nights bitter cold—though, as they won north¬ 
ward, and the season advanced, the days grew 
steadily longer. 

Went glimmering, as the weeks passed, the high 
hopes of a record passage. Disappeared, also, the 
assurance of recovering the treasure. The shadow 
of Wild Bob Carew fell between them and their 
destination. 

When one day the capricious wind drove them 
fairly past Copper Island, and they plunged into 
the foggy, ill-charted reaches of the Bering, their 
jubilation was tempered with a note of pessimism. 
They debated, in the Cohasset’s cabin, whether the 
adventurer of the Dawn had been beforehand; and 
Captain Dabney discussed his plans for proceeding 
on to the Kamchatka coast for trading in case they 
discovered Fire Mountain to be despoiled. 


188 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


The situation, it seemed to Martin, resolved itself 
to this: If Carew knew the latitude and longitude 
of the smoking mountain—and being familiar with 
the Bering Sea, all hands admitted that he might 
well know it—the ambergris was most certainly lost 
to them, unless, as was most unlikely, the Dawn had 
had even worse luck with the weather than the 
Cohasset. But if Carew did not know Fire Moun¬ 
tain's location, they had a chance, though Carew 
was probably cruising adjacent waters, on the look¬ 
out for them—and if they encountered him, they 
might prepare to resist a piracy. 

Martin, in truth, had a secret hope that they 
might encounter Carew’s schooner. He had a 
healthy lust for trouble and a scorn bred of igno¬ 
rance for the Japanese crew of the Dawn. He har¬ 
bored a grudge against the Dawn } s redoubtable 
skipper. Ruth was the kernel of that grudge. 

And, oddly enough, he had a queer companion 
also wishing they might be compelled to battle the 
Japanese. It was none other than Charley Bo Yip, 
the cook. 

Yip hated the Japanese with a furious hatred, 
if the garbled words that dropped from his smiling 
lips were to be believed. He hated them individu¬ 
ally and nationally. And he sharpened, ostenta¬ 
tiously, a meat-cleaver, and proclaimed his intention 
of procuring a Jap’s head as a trophy, should they 
have trouble. 

“Me China boy, all same Melican,” he told Mar¬ 
tin, as he industriously turned the grindstone beneath 
the cleaver’s edge. “Me like all same lepublic—me 


THE PASSAGE 


189 


fight like devil all same time when China war. Now 
Jap he come take China. No good. Me kill um 
Jap. Velly good. All same chop um head, chop, 
chop!” 

And Yip waved his cleaver over his head, and 
a seraphic smile lighted his bland, unwarlike face. 

At last, on the sixty-eighth day of the passage, 
Martin came on deck for the morning watch and 
found the vessel bouncing along under unaccustomed 
blue skies, and with a fair breeze. The boatswain 
went below, swiggling himself very stiff with the 
fervent hope that no bleeding Jonah would inter¬ 
rupt the course before the next eight bells, and Ruth 
took up an expectant watch with the glasses handy. 
Captain Dabney also kept the deck. Martin knew 
the landfall was expected. 

At the middle of the watch, a squall sent Martin 
racing aloft to furl the royal. It was then that his 
sea-sharpened sight raised the land. 

His hail to the deck aroused the ship. By the 
time he had finished his descent from aloft, all hands 
were at the rail, endeavoring each to pick up the 
distant speck. 

Four bells had gone while he was aloft, and he 
strode aft to take his wheel. As he passed along the 
poop, he heard Ruth say— 

“If the breeze holds, we’ll be inside in a couple 
of hours.” 

Captain Dabney turned his old, sea-wise face to 
the wind. After a moment, he shook his head. 

“I feel fog,” he said. 


CHAPTER XIII 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 

W ITHIN the hour, Captain Dabney’s words 
bore fruit. The spanking ten-knot breeze 
dropped abruptly to a gentle four-knot 
power. Then in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, 
the fog enveloped them. 

Martin, at the wheel, was straining his eyes, try¬ 
ing to make out the land ahead that he had seen 
from aloft. Abruptly before his eyes rose a wall 
of opaque gray. 

It was a typical Smoky Sea fog, a wet, dense, 
Bering blanket. From his station near the stern, 
Martin could not see the rail at the break of the 
poop, could hardly, indeed, discern objects a dozen 
paces distant. Familiar figures, entering his circle 
of vision, loomed gigantic and grotesque. The 
Cohasset sailed over a ghostly sea, whose quiet was 
broken only by the harsh squawking of sea-birds 
flying high overhead. 

Of recent weeks, Martin had become accustomed 
to fog. But there was about this fog a peculiarity 
foreign to his experience, though he had been in¬ 
formed during the cabin talks of the frequent occur¬ 
rence of this particular brand of mist in these waters. 
For, though Martin, standing on deck, was sur¬ 
rounded by an impervious wall of fog that pressed 

190 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


191 


upon him, though he could not see the water over¬ 
side or forward for a quarter of the little vessel’s 
length, yet he could bend back his head and see quite 
plainly the round ball of the sun glowing dully 
through the whitening mist overhead. 

He understood the wherefor. The fog was a 
low-lying bank, and thirty feet or so above his head 
it ended. He could not, from the wheel, distin¬ 
guish the upper hamper, but he knew the topmasts 
were free of the mist that shrouded the deck. Pres¬ 
ently, from overhead, and ghostily piercing the gray 
veil, came Ruth’s clear hail. She ordered him to 
shift the course a couple of points. So he knew his 
officer was aloft, up there in the sunshine, in a posi¬ 
tion that enabled her to direct their course. 

In such a fashion, creeping through the fog, the 
Cohasset came at last to Fire Mountain. The fog 
delayed, but did not daunt, the mariners of the happy 
family. 

After the hurried noon meal, Ruth returned to 
her station aloft and resumed conning the vessel by 
remembered landmarks on the mountain’s face. On 
deck, Martin, in company with his fellows, labored 
under the boatswain’s lurid driving to prepare the 
ship for anchoring. They cockbilled the great 
hooks, overhauled the cables, and coiled down run¬ 
ning braces and halyards; for, said the captain, 
attending upon their bustle with his abnormally 
sharp ears: 

“It’s a wide breach in the reef that makes the 
cove, and the water is deep right up to the beach. 
The lass should have no trouble conning us in, for 


192 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


she has a clean view aloft. But just have everything 
ready for quick work, bosun, in case we get into 
trouble.” 

Hence it was that Martin, a-tingle though he was 
with curiosity, found no opportunity to run aloft into 
the sunshine and view the place he had talked and 
dreamed so much about. Other men went aloft on 
ship's work, but Martin’s duty kept him racing about 
the wet decks. 

The fog pressed closer upon them as the day 
advanced, it seemed to Martin. It required an effort 
of his imagination to admit that a few feet above him 
the sun shone. 

The ship seemed to be crawling blindly about in 
a limitless void. Anon would come Ruth’s cheering 
and mellow halloo, cleaving sweetly through the 
drab enveloping blanket, and seeming to Martin’s 
eager ears to be a good fairy’s voice from another 
world. 

The screaming of the sea-birds grew in volume— 
but not a wing did Martin spy. The air appeared 
to take on an irritating taint; the fog tasted smoky. 

Added to other sounds, slowly grew a great surg¬ 
ing rumble. Aided by Ruth’s calls, Martin knew he 
heard the sea beating against the reef that encircled 
the mountain; but he saw nothing overside but that 
dead gray wall. 

The upper canvas was clewed up and left hanging, 
•and the brig’s slow pace became perceptibly slower. 

A boat was lowered, and Little Billy was pulled 
into the void ahead; and directly his musical chant 
came back, as he sounded their path with the lead. 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


193 


The surging thunder came from both sides, and 
Martin knew they were entering the haven. The 
voices of Ruth and Little Billy brought echoes from 
the giant sounding-board ahead. 

A sharp command from Captain Dabney, a 
moment’s rush of work to the accompaniment of a 
deal of fiery swiggling on the boatswain’s part, the 
ship lost way and rounded up, the anchor dropped 
with a dull plub, the chain roared through the hawse- 
pipe and brought a vastly multiplied echoing roar 
from the invisible cliffs, and there was a sudden, 
myriad-voiced screeching from the startled birds. 
Succeeded an ominous, oppressive quiet, broken only 
by the dull thunder of the surf. 

Martin drew a long breath and stared at th^ 
blank, impervious void about him. 

“So this,’’ he thought whimsically, “is the terrible 
Fire Mountain!” He was excitedly happy. 

A few moments later, when he went aloft to furl 
sail, he saw the shore, this unmarked, unknown rock 
that had filled his thoughts for months. 

It was a sudden and eery transition as he mounted 
the rigging, from gray night to sunshine in the space 
of a few ratlines. On the foretopgallant-yard he 
was above the fog, the very roof of the bank lying 
a dozen feet below. The decks were concealed 
from him. 

Overhead, the sky was blue and the gulls drove 
past and circled about in white screaming clouds. 
Before him, and on either side, not five hundred 
yards distant, loomed the mountain. 

Martin stared intently and curiously, and, de- 


194 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


spite himself, that bleak and desolate outlook 
sobered the gaiety of his mood. On three sides the 
rock reared skyward, bare and black, with never a 
hint of vegetation. 

The mountain formed a rough cone; some two 
thousand feet overhead was the summit, and over 
it hovered a cloud of white steam vapor, and a 
twisting column of curiously yellow-brown smoke 
that trailed away lazily on a light wind. Martin, 
staring at it, decided that the air he breathed did 
have an alien, a sulphurous taint. 

There were no raw fissures about the crater edge, 
and no evidence beyond the rather thin volume of 
smoke that the volcano contained life. Yet Martin 
seemed to hear, above the thunder of the surf in the 
fog beneath him, a distant, ominous rumbling, as 
if the slumbering Vulcan of the mountain were snor¬ 
ing in his sleep. 

But it was the mountainside that longest held 
Martin’s fascinated gaze. For, in her fiery past, 
the volcano had clad her flanks with black lava that 
was now molded into a vast chaos of fantastic archi¬ 
tecture and sculptures. It was as if an army 
of crazy artists had here expended their lunatic 
energies. 

He saw huge, round towers, leaning all awry; 
a vast pile fashioned like a church front, with twin 
steeples canting drunkenly; the tremendous columns 
the captain had told him of; jutting masses that 
hinted in their half-formed outlines of gigantic, 
crouching beasts. And everywhere in that weird 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


195 


field of shapes were the openings of caves—dark 
blots in the black stone. 

The mountain was truly a sponge-like labyrinth, 
Martin perceived. He could not see the strip of 
beach, however, or the cavern mouth, shaped like 
an elephant’s head, of the whaleman’s log. The fog 
hid them from view. 

But what he did see was sufficient. It was an evil 
landscape. It loomed black and forbidding against 
the background of blue sky, and the sun failed ^o 
lighten the aspect. It threatened. The stark de^o- 
lateness of the place was enhanced by the wild caw¬ 
ing of the gulls and the mournful booming of the 
sea upon the reef. 

Martin was depressed, as by a foreboding of ill 
fortune. He turned to Rimoa, who was on the 
yard-arm with him, and spoke with forced light¬ 
ness— 

“A cheerful-looking place, eh, Rimoa?” 

The Maori shuddered, and there was fear in 
his eyes. 

“No like!” he said. “This place bad, bad, bad!” 

Then, as they bent to their work, the fog-bank 
suddenly lifted, enveloped them, and hid the black 
mountain from view. 


CHAPTER XIV 


OUT OF THE FOG 


TO, we’ll not go ashore tonight,” stated Cap- 
tain Dabney at supper. “We would only 
lose ourselves blundering about in this fog. 
If the stuff is still there, it will keep until tomorrow. 
In the morning we’ll have a try, whether the fog has 
lifted or not.” 

“We’ll find the junk unless Wild Bob and Ichi 
have beaten us to it,” said Little Billy. “Hope they 
are not snugged close by behind this blooming cur¬ 


tain. 


n 


“No danger of that,” answered Ruth. “If the 
Dawn had been anywhere near us, I would have 
raised her topmasts above the bank. I didn’t, so 
she is neither outside nor inside. They have either 
been here or gone, or they never arrived. In either 
case, I am thankful for Carew’s absence. Shall we 
stand watch and watch tonight, captain?” 

“Hardly necessary,” said the captain. “Make it 
an anchor watch. Guess you’ll welcome a couple 
of extra hours in your bunks. Let’s see, Martin, 
you stand watch with the afterguard; that will make 
four of vou—Rhth, Bosun, Little Billv, and Martin. 
Have the fo’c’s’le stand watch in batches of two. 
Make Chips and Sails—they have been farrriers the 
passage—stand watch and watch. That will make 

196 



OUT OF THE FOG 


197 


four hands on deck at a time—plenty for any sud¬ 
den emergency. But if the fog lifts during the night, 
rouse the ship at once and we’ll set off for the beach. 
Got your directions ready, Billy?” 

“Yes, in my pocket,” said the hunchback. “But I 
venture that we all know them by heart.” 

“If the fog lifts, wind may follow,” added the 
captain. “If it breezes up from the south we may 
have to hike out of here in a hurry. How much 
chain is out? Forty-five? Well, have the bosun 
clap the devil’s claw on ahead of the shackle, and 
loosen the pin, in case we have to drop the cable. 
And—all hands at four o'clock.” 

In the lottery that presently followed, Martin 
drew the watch from two to four in the morning. 
Little Billy’s paper called for from twelve to two. 
Ruth and the boatswain divided the first four hours. 

Before he turned in, Martin went forward to dis¬ 
cover which of the forecastle hands would share his 
vigil. When he came abreast the galley door, where 
a beam of light shining out lighted dimly a small 
patch of the pervading, foggy murk, he encountered 
Sails. 

MacLean was standing in the light, bitterly 
recounting his troubles to the cheerfully grinning 
Charley Bo Yip. Martin paused, and was promptly 
aware that Sails had transferred his flow of words 
to the newcomer, as being a better audience than the 
unresponsive Chinaman. 

Martin gathered that Sails was to stand the 
middle watch, and that he was aggrieved that the 
best blood of Scotland had been bested in a game 



198 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


of chance by a blanked squarehead ship’s carpenter, 
who had, it seemed, won the right to stand the 
earlier watch. And, in any case, it was sacrilege 
to violate the night’s rest of a MacLean. And a 
sailmaker was a dash-blanked tradesman and should 
never be blankety well asked to stand a watch under 
any dashed circumstances! So quoth Sails. 

Martin commiserated with the other. 

‘‘You’ll be on watch with me, Sails,” he con¬ 
cluded. “I have the two to four. Little Billy has 
the earlier half of the watch.” 

“Little Billy!” echoed Sails. “Did ye say Little 
Billy, lad?” His belligerent voice dropped to a 
hoarse whisper. “Och, lad—Little Billy?” 

“Why, yes. What is wrong with that?” answered 
Martin. 

Suddenly Sails raised an arm and shook a clenched 
fist at the mountain that brooded invisible behind the 
fog curtain. 

“Och, ye black de’il’s kirk!” he declaimed. “Ye 
blood-sucker! The MacLean’s curse on ye!” 

He stood in relief against the muddy background, 
his features dimly lighted by the ray from the galley 
lamp, wisps of fog eddying about his gray head and 
beard, his features wild and passion-working. And 
he cursed the Fire Mountain. It was unreal, un¬ 
earthly, a scene from another age. But Martin 
felt a superstitious thrill. 

“Great Scott! What is the matter?” he cried, 
startled. 

MacLean lowered his arm, and his shoulders 


OUT OF THE FOG 


199 


slumped despondently. He mumbled to himself. 
Then, in answer to Martin, he said: 

‘Tittle Billy— och, ’tis Little Billy, dear Billy! 
Tis feydom, lad! And he turned abruptly, strode 
forward, and was lost in the fog. 

When Martin reached aft again, he intended to 
tell Little Billy about MacLean’s strange behavior. 
He found the hunchback restlessly pacing the tiny 
floor space of their common room. Little Billy 
lifted a hao-jrard face as Martin entered. 

c J 

“Hello, Martin,” he said. “I was waiting up for 
you. Here—keep these for me, will you?” He 
extended a bunch of keys. “I’m feeling extra dry 
tonight, and I don’t want to be tempted by knowing 
I have the key to the medicine-chest in my pocket. 
Whenever I pass that confounded box, I think of 
the two quarts of booze inside, and my tongue swells. 
Just keep the keys till tomorrow, will you? Ruth 
kept them for m,e when I had my last big thirst, 
a few weeks ago—remember? But I would rather 
you kept them this time. I don’t want her to know 
I’m having a hard time. She makes such a fuss over 
me, stuffs me with pills, and makes me drink that vile 
sassafras tea.” 

Martin dropped the bunch of keys into his 
trousers pocket. He regarded Little Billy with sym¬ 
pathy. For the past few days, the hunchback had 
again been engaged in a bout with his ancient enemy. 
Little Billy w^as fighting manfully, but the strain was 
telling, aging his mobile face, making rare his sunny 
smile and whimsical banter. Martin keenly felt the 


200 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

other’s suffering, for he had learned to love the 
little cripple. 

“Cheer up, Billy!” he said. “A better day 
coming.” 

“Oh, sure! Don’t worry about me,” responded 
Little Billy. “Turn in and get your sleep. I’m for 
the bunk, too—but I guess I’ll read a bit before 
I turn the lamp down. Lord, don’t I wish I owned 
a saloon! Well, tomorrow we’ll find the ambergris, 
and I’ll have money enough to drink myself peace¬ 
fully to death—providing that devil, Carew, hasn’t 
been before us to this cheerful spot. Good night.” 

Clambering into his bunk, the little man composed 
himself to a pretense of reading. 

Martin decided he would not trouble Little Billy 
with a recital of MacLean’s outburst. The poor 
fellow’s mind was feverish enough without being 
bothered with the old Scotchman’s wild, nonsensical 
raving. Martin knew the hunchback would consider 
gravely, and be disturbed, if he spoke. Little Billy 
apparently had some faith in Sails’ mystical fore¬ 
sight. 

In truth, Martin himself, was impressed and 
oppressed by the Scot’s obscure hints of evil to 
come—they fitted so well with the wild and gloomy 
face of the volcano and the depressing fog. Martin 
was half ashamed of his dread of something he 
could not name; but he turned in standing, remov¬ 
ing only his shoes and loosening his belt, before 
crawling into his bunk and drawing the blankets 
over him. 

A strange hand grasping his shoulder brought 


OUT OF THE FOG 


201 


Martin out of deep sleep to instant consciousness. 
The light still burned in the room, and his opening 
eyes first rested on the tin clock hanging on the wall 
opposite. It was one o’clock. 

The hand that shook him belonged to MacLean. 
The old man was bending over him with the white 
face of one who has seen a ghost. 

“He’s gone!” he softly exclaimed, before Martin 
could frame a question. 

Startled, Martin sat up and swung his legs out¬ 
board. 

“What—Little Billy?” A glance showed him 
the upper bunk was empty. 

“Aye—Billy,” responded Sails. “Och, ’tis a bad 
night outdoors, lad—a thick, dark night. And 
Billy’s gone. Didna’ I see him in the dark, and 
wearing the black shroud, these months agone! He 
was feyed! Yon mount is the de’il’s home, and 
others-” 

“What are you talking about?” interrupted Mar¬ 
tin impatiently. “What nonsense! Isn’t Little Billy 
on deck? Isn’t he on watch?” 

“On watch? Aye, who kens where he watches 
now? He’s gone, I tell ye!” hissed the old man 
fiercely. And then, apparently observing Martin’s 
bewilderment, he went on: “He has disappeared 
from deck. Och, I can no say how! The Powers 
o’ Darkness can no be seen through, and he was 
under the black shroud! I saw him at one bell when 
he came for’rd and routed me oot the galley where 
I was taking a wee spell. 

u Och, ’tis a black, bad night the night. Ye canna’ 



202 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


see your hand afore ye. And Billy went aft, and 
I leaned on the rail, and listened—listened, for I 
couldna’ see. And I heard It! Aye, I kenned ’twas 
It, for ’twas no the soond o’ the waves, nor the call¬ 
ing o’ the birds, nor the splash o’ anything that lives 
in the sea. I kenned it was It. Hadna’ I seen the 
shroud? Soonded like an oar stroke. ’Twas the 
Prince o’ Evil soonding his way, a-coming wi’ his 
shroud. Och! I run aft to tell Billy, and I tell ye, 
lad, Little Billy was gone!” 

MacLean leaned forward, grunting his words 
earnestly, his face working with superstitious fear. 

“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Martin. “You make 
me tired with your eternal ‘fey’ business. Little 
Billy is somewhere around the deck—probably seek¬ 
ing you, this minute.” 

“He’s gone!” reiterated Sails. “I searched, I 
tell ye! I got my lantern, and I looked all aboot 
the poop, and all aboot the decks, clear for’rd, and 
I sang oot as loud as I could wi’oot rousing all hands 
—and no hide or hair o’ Billy could I find. Och, 
he’s gone, I tell ye, lad. Didna’ I see him lying stark 
in the dark place, wi’ the black shroud over him. 
The MacLeans ha’ the sight, lad, and I am the 
seventh son.” 

“All right, all right! Don’t chatter so loud, 
you’ll awaken everybody,” interrupted Martin. He 
rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and bent over and 
pulled on his shoes. “I’ll go on deck with you, and 
of course Little Billy will give us the laugh.” 

But Martin was, in fact, a little bit impressed 
by the old sailmaker’s earnest conviction. As he 


OUT OF THE FOG 


203 


laced his shoes, a little superstitious thrill tingled 
along his spine at the thought of It plucking Little 
Billy from the deck and carrying him into the dark 
depths of the brooding mountain. 

But that was nonsense, he immediately reflected, 
half angry with himself. By George! If he allowed 
that confounded volcano to affect him so, he would 
soon be as bad as old Sails! Still, he had better go 
on deck and take a look at Little Billy, and satisfy 
the old man. His watch was soon, anyway. 

Martin was recalling the hunchback’s nervous¬ 
ness a few hours previous; Little Billy was wrestling 
John Barleycorn. If he had disappeared as the 
sailmaker claimed, he had probably lost the bout 
and would be found in drunken sleep. There was 
whisky in the medicine-chest—no, he had the keys. 
Well, then the alcohol in the boatswain’s locker. 

“Was there anything unusual about Little Billy’s 
manner when you saw him at one bell?” he asked 
MacLean. 

“No, lad. I ken your thought,” replied the other. 
“He’d no had a drop, though he was jumpy as a cat.” 

Martin w*as taken aback by Sails’ shrewd guess. 
He tiptoed to the door. 

“Come on,” he whispered to Sails. “Don’t make 
any noise. We don’t want to disturb the others 
until we make sure Little Billy isn’t on the job.” 

They stepped into the cabin, and Martin’s first 
glance was toward the medicine-chest. It had not 
been disturbed. They went forward, through the 


204 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


cabin alleyway, toward the main deck. The boat¬ 
swain’s room opened off here. 

Martin opened the door, half expecting to see 
the hunchback chatting with his bosom friend. But 
the room was dark, and the red giant was sleeping 
noisily. Then they opened the door at the end of 
the alleyway and stepped out on deck, Martin softly 
closing the door behind him. 

Abruptly, Martin found himself isolated in a sea 
of murk. At that hour, the sun had dipped for its 
brief concealment beneath the horizon, and the fog, 
which had been a gray-brown curtain in daylight, 
was now an all-enshrouding cloak of blackness that 
rendered eyesight useless. 

Literally, Martin could not see his hand before 
his face. Nor could he see the door to the cabin 
alleyway, that he had just closed, though he had 
stepped but a couple of paces away from it. Nor 
could he see Sails, though the latter stood but an 
arm’s length distant. Sails’s hoarse whisper came 
through the gloom: 

“Ye see the night, lad? Och, ’tis a night for evil!” 

Martin shivered at the sound of Sails’ dismal 
croaking. See the night! He could see nothing. 
The other’s voice came out of an impenetrable void. 
Above him, beneath him, all about him, was nothing 
but blackness, thick, clinging gloom. The Stygian, 
fog-filled night crushed, like a heavy, intangible 
weight; one choked for breath. 

Martin felt like an atom lost in back immensity. 
He wanted to shout at the top of his voice. But 


OUT OF THE FOG 


205 


what he did do was lift his voice gently, so the 
words would not arouse the sleepers in the cabin. 

‘‘Little Billy! Billy!” he called. 

His call was swallowed up, smothered, by the 
night. He strained his ears. But the only answer 
was the eery cry of a night-flying gull and the deep 
moaning of the sea upon the rocks—that and the 
hoarse, uneasy breathing of the invisible MacLean. 

Martin was more than disturbed by that silence. 

“Sails, who are the foc’sle hands who have this 
watch?” he said. 

“Rimoa and Oomak,” came MacLean’s voice. 
“They were for’rd when I came aft for you.” 

Martin called again, along the decks. 

“Rimoa! Oomak! For’rd there—speak up!” 

The wailing voices of the night replied; not a 
word, not a footfall came out of the gloom to tell 
of stirring human life. 

“Good Lord, they must all be asleep!” exclaimed 
Martin testily. “Sails, where is that lantern you 
spoke of?” 

“In the galley—I left it there,” answered the 
sailmaker. “I will go fetch it.” 

He heard MacLean’s retreating footsteps, un¬ 
certain and uneven, as the man felt his way forward. 
The diminishing sounds affected him strangely; he 
was suddenly like a little child affrighted by the dark. 
The sinister night contained a nameless threat. The 
black wall that encompassed him, flouting his strain¬ 
ing gaze, seemed peopled by rustlings and leering 
eyes. Abruptly, Martin decided to follow Mac- 
Lean, instead of wlaiting for him. 


206 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


He stepped out in the other’s wake, as he thought. 
After a blundering moment, he fetched up against 
the ship’s rail. He tacked away and bumped into 
the after capstan, which stood in the middle of the 
deck. He barked his shins there and swore aloud 
to relieve his surcharged feelings. 

Then his groping hand encountered a little 
object, lying on top of the capstan, that checked 
his words instantly. It was a well-known article, 
one he had handled often, and recognized imme¬ 
diately he touched it—it was Little Billy’s rubber 
tobacco-pouch. He fingered it apprehensively, star¬ 
ing about him. Why was Little Billy’s pouch aban¬ 
doned there on the capstan-head, this pocket 
companion of an inveterate smoker? Why, Little 
Billy must be near by! He called excitedly: 

“Billy! Billy! Where are you?” 

The night took his hail and returned its own 
sphinx-like reply. Martin stuffed the pouch into 
his pocket. He was distinctly uneasy, now, on the 
hunchback’s account. Something had happened, he 
felt—some accident had happened to Little Billy. 
It was not like Little Billy to thus forsake his be¬ 
loved shag, his constant ally in his fight against 
the drink hunger. Had the poor devil succumbed 
after all? Had he deserted Nicotine for Barley¬ 
corn? 

Martin leaned over the capstan, peering into 
that baffling gloom. He stiffened tensely. He 
seemed to hear whispering; it came out of that black 
pit before him, the very ghost of a man’s voice. 

He strained his ears, but the sound, if sound 


OUT OF THE FOG 


207 


it were, was not repeated. He was impatient for 
MacLean to appear with the lantern, but he could 
no longer hear MacLean’s footfalls. Then his ears 
caught another sound; it was peculiar, like the pat¬ 
ter of bare feet. 

“MacLean! Where are you?” he called sharply. 
“Hurry with that lantern!” 

Instead of MacLean’s voice in reply, he heard 
a heavy breathing, the sound of a man taking sev¬ 
eral long, sobbing breaths. The breathing ceased 
immediately, but a light patter followed it, and then 
the scrape of a shod foot across the deck. The 
sounds came from just ahead, close by, but he could 
see nothing. But he sensed some kind of a struggle 
was taking place on the deck. 

He started forward, and then stopped dead. Out 
of the black void before him came MacLean’s voice 
—strangled words in a horrible, ascending pitch: 

“Marty! Marty! My God! Ah-h-h!” 

There was the thud of a heavy, falling body 
striking the deck. 

For a second Martin was anchored by horror. 
Then he leaped forward, giving voice as he did to 
a great, arousing, wordless bellow. And even as 
he ran blindly ahead those few paces, he heard a 
heavy voice give a shouted supplement to his call. 

The darkness was suddenly alive with rushing 
feet. A body hurled itself against him, an arm 
struck a sweeping blow, and he felt the knife rip 
through his flannel shirt and graze his shoulder near 
his neck. 

He went reeling backward, his foot tripped on 


t 


208 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


a ring-bolt in the deck, and he fell heavily. His 
head struck with stunning force against a bulwark 
stanchion. 

The collision scattered his wits, and Martin lay in 
the scuppers, blinking at the dancing lights before his 
eyes. In his ears was a great humming. Then, 
after a moment, the humming broke into parts and 
became a babel of shouts. 

He heard a harsh chatter—voices crying out in 
a foreign tongue. He heard a great booming voice 
that stirred memory. He heard a pistol-shot. He 
heard Ruth’s voice, raised in a sharp, terror- 
stricken cry: 

“Martin—Billy—Martin! Oh, help!” 

The scream galvanized Martin to action. She 
was calling him! 

He struggled to arise, got upon his knees, reached 
upward and grasped a belaying-pin in the rail above. 
Clutching the pin, he drew himself erect. 

He swayed drunkenly for a moment, still dizzied 
by his fall. The pandemonium of a moment agone 
was stilled. Ruth did not cry out again, but voices 
came from aft. The belaying-pin he grasped was 
loose in its hole and unencumbered by rope. Quite 
without reasoning, Martin drew it out, and, grasping 
it clublike, lurched aft. 

Twice during his headlong flight toward the cabin, 
hands reached out of the darkness to stay him. And 
twice the stout, oaken club he wielded impacted 
against human skulls, and men dropped in their 
tracks. 

Martin burst out of the gloom into the small half- 


OUT OF THE FOG 


7 


209 


circle of half light that came from the now open 
alleyway door. He rushed through, into the cabin. 

He had time but for a glimpse of the scene in 
the cabin. One whirling glance that took in the 
scattered company—the bedraggled Japanese, Cap¬ 
tain Dabney lying face down across the threshold of 
his room, his white hair bloodied, Wild Bob Carew 
lifting a startled face. And Carew was holding a 
squirming, fighting Ruth in his arms! 

Martin hardly checked the stride of his entrance. 
He flung himself toward the man who held his 
woman, and his club cracked upon another skull. 

A man hurtled against him and drove him against 
the wall. He saw Carew fall, and Ruth spill free 
of the encircling arms. 

Then a hand took him by the throat, long, supple, 
muscular fingers stopping his wind. He saw a face 
upraised to his—an expressionless yellow face, with 
glittering, slanting eyes. He drew up his club for 
the blow. The slender fingers were probing upward, 
behind his jawbone, and he was choking. 

Then, it seemed to Martin, a stream of liquid fire 
flooded his veins, searing his entire body. The 
belaying-pin dropped from his nerveless hand, his 
arms dropped, his knees sagged. 

The terrible fingers squeezed tighter. He could 
feel his eyeballs starting, his tongue swelling. The 
flame consumed his vitals. It was hellish pain— 
quite the sharpest agony Martin had ever felt. 

He was upon his back on the floor. The fingers 
were gone, but the awful pain continued. His wits 
were swimming. A pair of soft arms were about 


210 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


him. His reeling head was cushioned against a 
loved and fragrant breast; a dear voice spoke his 
name anxiously. 

“Martin, Martin! What have they done? Oh, 
Martin, speak to me!” He tried to speak, but 
could not. 

Then the loved presence was gone, and he was 
alone. A face bent over him—a yellow face. It 
was a well-remembered face, the face of little Dr. 
Ichi. But what a towsled, bedraggled successor to 
the former dandy! 

Ichi was smiling at him. It was all very strange 
to Martin, unreal, like the fancies of a delirium. 
A mist came before his eyes and blotted out the 
smiling face. But his senses left him with Ichi’s 
courteously spoken words in his ears: 

“Very, very sorry, Mr. Blake. You were of such 
roughness we were compelled to use the ju-jitsu!” 


CHAPTER XV 


IN THE LAZARET 

I T seemed to Martin he was wandering in a vast 
and thirsty desert. To the very core of his 
being he was dry. Drink! Drink! With his 
whole life he lusted drink. He waded through that 
parched world, burning up with thirst. 

Despite his efforts, his mouth sagged open, and 
his tongue, swollen to prodigious size, burst through 
its proper limits and hung down upon his breast, 
broiling in the rays of the hot sun. To make the 
keener his thirst, there lay before him a delectable 
oasis, a patch of moist green, with playing fountains 
and rippling cascades plainly visible to his tortured 
gaze. He struggled toward it, and always, as he 
neared it, some malign influence clutched his wrists 
—which unaccountably stuck out behind him—and 
jerked him back. 

For ages and ages he waded through the dry 
sand toward the water, and ever the Evil One who 
controlled his wrists kept him from attaining his 
desire. Water! Water! He was in agony for 
water. Water! Would he never reach that blessed 
water? 

Then something cold, slimy, horrible, ran over 
his face, and the loathful thrill he felt shocked 
him into reality. 


211 


212 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


The desert vanished. He tried to move and sat 
up. He heard a frenzied squeaking, and a light 
scampering on wood, and he knew that a rat had 
run over his body. 

All the sensations of consciousness assailed him 
abruptly. He heard the rats, and a deep rumble 
near by; he saw dimly in the darkness; he smelled 
of mingled odors of provisions; he felt thirst. 
Though he was out of the desert, he was still 
consumed with thirst. 

He sat quietly for a moment while his confused 
thoughts gradually arrayed themselves in orderly 
fashion. He knew where he was instantly—the 
jumble of casks, and kegs, and boxes, that sur¬ 
rounded him, and which he could dimly perceive 
in the gloom, and the smell, told him he was in the 
ship’s lazaret. How he came to be there was as 
yet concealed behind a haze that clouded his 
memory. 

Next, he became aware that something was the 
matter with his arms. They ached cruelly. After 
a moment’s experimenting and reflection the truth 
came to him with shocking force—his arms were 
drawn behind him, and his wrists were handcuffed 
together. The shock of that discovery dissipated 
the fog over his mind. He began to remember. 

But while his wits groped, he was sharply con¬ 
scious of his thirst. It blazed. His tongue felt 
like a piece of swollen leather. He felt pain. His 
throat was throbbing with pain. Water! Water 
was the pressing need, the most important thing in 
existence. 


IN THE LAZARET 


213 


He tried to mouth his desire, to speak it aloud, 
and a weak and painful gurgle struggled outward 
from his throat. 

There was a stir close by him, and a voice spoke 
up. Martin was then aware that the deep rumble 
he had been listening to was the sound of a man 
swearing deeply and softly. The man now spoke 
to him. 

“Ow, lad, is that you? ’Ave you come to, 
Martin!” 

Martin peered toward the voice, and saw a few 
feet ahead of him, beyond a circular stanchion, the 
shadowy outline of a man. He tried to speak, to 
say, “Bosun! Bosun!” But his misused throat 
and parched tongue refused to form the words. 
And with the other’s voice came memory, complete 
and terrible. The past was arrayed before his 
mind’s eye with a lightning flash of recollection. 
The dreadful present was clear to him in all its 
bitter truth. 

He remembered the trip to the deck in search 
of Little Billy; the black, evil night, and MacLean’s 
horried outcry. He remembered the scene in the 
cabin, Captain Dabney lying inert on the floor, the 
hateful ring of yellow faces, and Carew—Carew 
clasping Ruth in his arms! 

He remembered felling Carew, and being felled 
himself by the lethal clutch of the Japanese. He 
remembered Ichi, and even Ichi’s words, “compelled 
to use the ju-jitsu.” They had ju-jitsued him! That 
was what was wrong with his throat. 

The sum of his memories was clear, and for the 


214 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


moment it crushed and terrified him. For it was 
evident that that which they had speculated upon 
as a remote almost impossible, contingency, had 
come to pass—the brig was in Carew’s hands. They 
had been surprised in the fog, a piracy had occurred, 
murder had been done, and Wild Bob and his yellow 
followers had taken the ship. 

He was a prisoner in the bowels of the ship, his 
hands chained behind his back, absolutely helpless. 
And Sails was dead! And Little Billy was dead! 
Captain Dabney was dead! The crew—God knew, 
perhaps—they were slaughtered too ! And Ruth— 
Ruth was alive, in Carew’s hands, at the mercy of 
the brute she so feared. Ruth was alive—to suffer 
what fate? And he—he who loved her—was 
chained and helpless. 

Panic, rage, despair, shook Martin. In excess of 
misery, he groaned aloud, a smothered sob of 
anguish. 

“Martin, lad! ’Ave you come around? You’re 
sittin’ up. Ow, swiggle me, lad, pipe up!” 

The words came from the huddled figure behind 
the stanchion, in a husky beseeching rumble. The 
shadowy figure stirred, and Martin heard the sharp 
clink of steel striking against steel. 

The words and the sound pierced his dread, and 
brought his thoughts back to the boatswain. He 
tried a second time to answer the other’s hail, and 
managed to articulate in a hoarse mumble. The 
words tore barbed through his sore throat, and were 
hardly managed by his dry, swollen tongue. 

“All right—bos—dry—come.” 


IN THE LAZARET 


215 


He got upon his knees and peered into the dark¬ 
ness about him. He was in a narrow passageway 
between two rows of ship’s stores that ran fore 
and after the length of the lazaret. He was facing 
forward. Just behind him, on his right hand, a 
ladder ran up to the cabin overhead, but the trap¬ 
door in the cabin floor was closed. 

His scrutiny was aided as much by memory as 
by eyesight, for he had several times been in this 
chamber, breaking out stores. The passage he sat 
in, he knew, ran forward to the row of beef casks 
which abutted against the forward bulkhead. Mid¬ 
way was an intersecting, thwart-ship alleyway 
between the stores. At this point of intersection was 
the stanchion, behind which was the boatswain, a 
hulking black blot in the surrounding gloom. 

He hunched himself along upon his knees, and 
reached the stanchion. 

“Drink—dry—water,” he gabbled painfully. 

“Marty—Marty, lad, I’m glad you’re ’ere!” 
came the heartfelt whisper from the boatswain. 
“I feared ’e ’ad choked the life out o’ ye. Dry, ye 
say? So am I, lad. Cussed so much I can’t spit— 
an’ my back’s bloomin’ w^ell busted from bending 
over ’ugging this stanchion!” 

Martin, leaning against a tier of boxes, was able 
to see the boatswain more clearly. He could not 
make out the other’s features plainly, but he almost 
rubbed against an arm and leg, and he saw that 
the big man was in his underwear. The boatswain 
was seated on the floor, and his arms and legs 
encircled the stanchion. 


216 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“I’d ’a’ come to you, Marty, but the blighters 
’ave me ironed, ironed ’and an’ foot around this 
bloody stanchion! Ow, but it’s a black business, 
lad! But can ye stand, Martin? ’Ave they ironed 
you, too?” 

Martin desperately endeavored to swallow the 
dry lump in his throat. 

“Behind back—hand,” he managed to gulp out. 
“Throat bad—can’t talk—dry-” 

“Be’ind your back!” broke in the boatswain. 

“Ow-blast the cruel devils! Be’ind your back 

—ironed be’ind your back! An’ you lyin’ on your 
arms these hours! That’s cruel ’ard—’arder than 
me ’ugging this ruddy post. Throat bad? I 
know—I seen them giving you the squeeze. Ju-jitsu 
—swiggle me if it wasn’t! But can ye stand, Mar¬ 
tin? ’Ave you the use o’ your legs? Because, them 
boxes you’re leanin’ against are canned goods, 
tomatoes an’ such, and-” 

But Martin heard no more. He had struggled 
to his feet, and begun to investigate. For the boat¬ 
swain’s remark concerning canned goods had brought 
two memories to his mind. One memory went back 
to the old, half-forgotten days of his clerkhood in 
San Francisco. In those days he had occasionally 
gone on Sunday hikes over the Marin hills, in com¬ 
pany with Fatty Jones, who worked in a neighboring 
office. And Fatty Jones, he recalled, always carried 
with him, in preference to a canteen, two cans of 
tomatoes for drinking purposes. 

The second memory went back but a week. He, 
and the two Kanakas of his watch, had been sent 





IN THE LAZARET 


217 


below to break out a fresh cask of beef. As they 
struggled with the heavy burden in this very passage¬ 
way, one of the Kanakas had knocked from its posi¬ 
tion on top of a pile, a box of tomatoes. The fall 
broke open the( box. They had tossed it back 
into place, unrepaired. Unless some one had subse¬ 
quently renailed the cover on that box, it was open 
to him, somewhere along the top tier. 

A vision of himself quaffing deeply of the cool, 
wet contents of those cans, filled Martin’s mind to 
the exclusion of aught else. 

The row of boxes was about breast-high. Unable 
to use his hands, Martin leaned over and explored 
with his chin. The fourth box rewarded him. He 
broke his skin upon a bared nail, and, craning fur¬ 
ther, rubbed his jawbone over the cold, smooth, 
round tops of cans. 

He crooned with delight. Then followed despair 
as he discovered that he was unable, without the use 
of his hands, to either move the box or extract a can. 

The boatswain, following his progress with eye 
and ear, counseled him: 

“Turn around, an’ bend over, an’ reach up back¬ 
wards. No? Well, try and get on top o’ the pile, 
and flop over.” 

It was bracing advice. Martin pulled him,self 
together and essayed the attempt. 

Slowly he worried his way upward until his middle 
balanced on the edge of the top tier. A quick writhe 
placed him atop. Then he bent back, and his man¬ 
acled hands felt around till they encountered the 


cans. 


218 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 

It required repeated attempts ere he was able to 
draw one out of the box, for the cans were large, 
of gallon size, and his numbed arms were almost 
strengthless. But at last he plucked one out and 
canted it over the edge of the box. It struck the 
deck with a thud. He scrambled down from his 
perch, croaking excitedly— 

“Got it—bos—got—one.” 

An instant later, he had kicked the can to the 
stanchion, and was squatted again by the boatswain’s 
side. 

The boatswain slid his arms down the post and 
felt of the treasure. 

* “Aye—ye got it!” he commented. “But ’ow’ll 
we open the thing? Too big for me to get my ’ands 
around, or I’d twist it open—an' the way we’re tied 
up we can’t bash it against anything. Strike me a 
blushin’ pink, what rotten luck. An’ w T e fair per- 
ishin’ with thirst!” 

“Got—knife?” mumbled Martin. 

“Knife! I ain’t got my bloody clothes, let alone 
my knife! Caught me in my bunk, asleep, they did. 
And you needn’t twist about looking for your sheath- 
knife, lad. I seen them take it from you, up there 
in the cabin. Swiggle me’ we’re stumped—but, you 
’aven’t a pocket-knife, ’ave you?” 

“No,” answered Martin. 

His spirits were at zero, with the diminishing 
prospect of tasting those wet tomatoes. His raging 
thirst, whetted by expectation, assailed him with 
added force; he was actually dizzy with lust of 
drink. 




IN THE LAZARET 


219 


“Blimme! ’Aven’t you anything in your pockets 
what’s sharp?” asked the boatswain. “Ow, what 
tough luck!” 

Martin suddenly remembered something. 

“Got—keys,” he croaked. “Bunch—keys.” 

“Keys!” echoed the other. “Bless me that’s bet¬ 
ter. May work it. Can you reach them—what 
pocket? Side? ’Ere—lean closer to me, an’ I’ll 
get ’em out. Keys! Ow—any of them sharp 
pointed? Any Yales?” 

Two of the boatswain’s clublike fingers worked 
their way into Martin’s trousers pocket. 

“Don’t know—not—mine,” Martin answered 
the questioning. “Keys belong—Little Billy— 
gave-” 

The boatswain’s fingers stopped prodding for a 
second. The man tensed, drew in a sharp breath, 
and then exploded an oath. 

“What! Billy's keys? God ’elp us lad, did ye 
say you ’ad Little Billy’s keys?” 

The fingers dove into the pocket with redoubled 
energy, grasped the keys, and drew them out. And 
then the boatswain pawed them over for a moment. 

“Ow, strike me, ’e spoke right!” he muttered ex- 
ultingly. “Billy’s keys—the steward’s ring! Oh 
ho! An’ may the devil swiggle me bleedin’ well 
stiff, if ’ere ain’t the wery key! By ’Eaven, I’ll ’ave 
my bare ’ands on that bloke yet! Ow—what luck!” 

“What—” commenced the astonished Martin. 

“What!” echoed the boatswain. “Ere—you just 
stand around, and let me get at them bracelets. I’ll 



220 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


show ye what! Ow—where’s the bloody ’ole! 
Ah-h!” 

There was a tiny click—and Martin felt his steel 
bonds being drawn from his wrists. His nerveless 
arms fell to his sides. 

The boatswain explained the miracle. 

“Little Billy’s keys—’ow’d you ’appen—don’t 
ye see, lad? There’s a duplicate key to these irons 
on Billy’s key-ring. Old man ’as the other key— 
or ’ad, suppose Carew ’as it now. It fits all the 
irons. ’Ere, turn me loose now. This little key!” 

A moment later, Martin’s fumbling fingers com¬ 
pleted their task, and the big man’s limbs were free. 
The boatswain straightened and stretched with a 
grunt of satisfaction. Martin, obeying the dominant 
need, which was to drink, seized the can of tomatoes 
and commenced to pound it against the stanchion, 
in the hope of bursting it open. 

“ ’Ere—stop that!” hoarsely commanded the 
boatswain. “You'll ’ave them down on us with that 
noise. Give me the can—an’ the keys. Ah—’ere’s 
a Yale, saw edge. Just drive it through—so. An’ 
use it like a bloomin’ can-opener-—so. ’Ere you are, 
lad, drink ’earty. I know ’ow a chokin’ like you 
got makes a man crazy with thirst. I’m some dry 
myself.” 

Martin seized the can. The boatswain had cut 
a small, jagged opening in the top and Martin 
clapped his mouth over it, cutting his lips in his 
eagerness. He drank, drank. It was an exquisite 
delight to feel the cool stream pouring down his 


IN THE LAZARET 221 

throat; his whole body was instantly refreshed, in¬ 
vigorated. 

He paused for breath, and drank again. The con¬ 
tents of the can were three-quarters drinkable, and 
he gulped the major portion down. Then he 
stopped with a sudden shame of his greediness, 
recalling the boatswain’s expressed need. 

“Oh, bosun, I forgot!” he exclaimed, noting as 
he spoke that his tongue was limber and tractable 
again, and that he could form words. 

“That’s all right, laddie,” said the boatswain, 
taking the proffered can. “I know ’ow you felt. 
Enough for me ’ere. Ah, that’s better than the best 
drink ever mixed be’ind a bar. Plenty, lad, plenty 
—I feel fit now. ’Ere, ’ave some more.” 

Martin finished the tin. Then he heaved a sur¬ 
feited sigh. 

“Oh, I didn’t think I’d ever get enough,” he said. 
“Why, I was so dry I couldn’t talk. And my 
throat-” 

“I know,” interrupted the boatswain, sitting down 
beside him. “You’re bleedin’ lucky to be talkin’ 
now, even in a whisper. I’ve seen other men choked 
like you was, an’ they couldn’t say a word for days. 
Slick beggars with their fingers, them jitsu blokes! 
And now, Martin, let’s figure it out. Ow, swiggle 
me, what’ll we do? The lass-” 

The boatswain swore deeply and energetically. 

Martin groaned in unison with the other’s oaths, 
his love-born panic for the girl’s safety overwhelm¬ 
ing him again. Grim, horrible fears surged through 
his mind and pricked him unendurably. God! 




222 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Ruth, his Ruth, was alone, helpless, at the mercy 
of those devils’ lusts! And he was sitting here 
inactive ! It was unendurable! 

He scrambled to his feet, with the wild idea of 
mounting the ladder to the cabin and battering his 
way through the trap-door. He must succor Ruth! 

The boatswain reached up a huge hand and 
pulled him down again. Martin struggled for a 
moment, his reason clouded by his hot fear. 

“But, bosun—Ruth!” he cried. “Ruth is—Good 
God, man, Carew and those yellow men have Ruth!” 

The giant restrained him as easily as if he were 
a child, and talked soothingly. 

“Aye, aye, lad—I know. But Ruth is safe, I 
think, so far. An’ ye can bet your bottom dollar 
Carew will keep the Japs at their distance of the 
lass, and she’ll stand off Carew—for a w’ile, any’ow. 
Swiggle me, Martin, ’ave sense. What can ye do 
bare-’anded? ’Ere, now, sit still, and we’ll figure 
out some plan. Ruth’s all right. She’s in the Old 
Man’s room, a-nursin’ ’im.” 

“No, no—the captain is dead!” asserted Martin. 
“I saw him lying dead on the floor!” 

“ ’E wasn’t dead,” said the boatswain. “Carew 
took ’is gun away, and ’it ’im over the eye with the 
butt of it. Laid ’im out, same as you. They let 
the lass take ’im into ’is room and stay there to 
nurse ’im. I seen it, I tell ye!” 

Martin subsided. 

“But what will we do?” he exclaimed. “We 
must do something, bosun!” 

“Aye—please God, we’ll do something,” said the 


IN THE LAZARET 


223 


boatswain. “Please God, I’ll ’aye my ’ands on that 
black-’earted murdered—and on Ichi, too! I ’ave 
a plan. But first, tell me what ’appened to you? 
’Ow did you ’appen to be on deck? It wasn’t your 
watch. What ’appened on deck before you came 
bouncing into the cabin and batted Carew on the 
knob with the belayin’-pin? Neat crack! Too bad 
it didn’t ’urt the beggar much. And brace up, lad! 
I know ’ow ye feel. I know ’ow ’tis between you 
and the lass—I’ve seen the eyes ye give each other. 
She’ll be safe, Martin. Strike me, God will never 
let them ’arm ’er, swiggle me stiff if ’E will!” 

There was a wealth of simple faith in the giant’s 
voice, and some of it found lodgment in Martin’s 
troubled breast. He composed himself, held him¬ 
self in sure check, and upon the boatswain’s repeated 
request, told what had happened to him from the 
moment the old sailmaker had awakened him till 
he felt his senses leave him in the cabin. 

When he finished, he discovered it was his turn 
to hearten. The boatswain was immersed in gtief, 
and the hunchback was the cause. 

“Ow, swiggle me! I ’oped as ’ow Billy was 
safe somewhere—locked up like us,” he groaned. 
“But ’e's gone. Got ’im first, likely. Must ’ave 
slipped up be’ind ’im, while ’e was fillin’ his pipe there 
w’ere ye found ’is baccy, and give ’im the knife. 
They didn’t ’ave guns—used knives. They got guns 
now, blast ’em. An’ Little Billy’s gone! I—I loved 
the lad, Martin.” The man’s voice choked. 

“But he may not be dead, not even injured,” urged 
Martin. “I only heard Sails cry out. Perhaps Billy 


i 


224 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


wasn’t around when they slipped aboard. You know 
his failing, bosun, and you know how he has been 
the last few days. The reason I have the keys, you 
know, is because he didn’t want to be tempted by 
the medicine-chest. Maybe he gave in, and got some 
alcohol, forward, and got drunk and went to sleep.” 

The boatswain snorted indignantly. 

“You don’t know Billy like I do!” he cried. 
“Drunk, no! Billy ’ad ’is failing, but ’e’d sooner 
’a’ died than give in at such a time. No—’e’s gone. 
Ye say old Sails told ye Billy was feyed! Ow, that 

proves it. That-burgoo-eater was always right 

in such things! Billy, dear Billy—’e was a proper 
mate, Martin.” 

The boatswain’s mood changed abruptly, and rage 
possessed him. Martin felt the man’s great body 
tremble with the intensity of his passion. He spoke 
through his clenched teeth, slowly and strangely, 
without using his accustomed expletives. 

“They killed ’im! They'll pay. We’re goin’ to 
get out o’ ’ere, Martin—I know ’ow, now. We’re 
going to try an’ take the ship back. Aye—maybe 
they’ll get us, but I’ll twist the necks o’ some o’ them 
first. And I’ll get Carew, ’imself!” 

He spoke the words with a cool positiveness that 
bred belief. Martin, in almost as vengeful a mood 
as the other, was grimly cheered by the pictured 
prospect. 

“I’ll tell you what I know about it,” went on the 
boatswain in a somewhat lighter voice. “They got 
me in my bunk. ’Ad the irons on me before I was 
awake—ye know ’ow I sleep, like a ruddy corpse. 




IN THE LAZARET 


225 


Ichi steered ’em. The blighter knows the ship, knew 
where the irons ’ung in the cabin, knew ’ow the 
rooms are laid out. When I woke up I was ’elpless, 
and ’alf dozen o’ them picked me up and packed me 
into the cabin and threw me down be’ind the table. 
That’s where I lay when you busted in. They ’ad 
gagged me with my own socks. 

“They must ’ave been on board before Sails came 
aft, and as soon as the two of ye went for’rd, they 
slipped into the alleyway be’ind ye. I was already 
dumped on the cabin floor when the rumpus broke 
out on deck—at the same instant Carew appeared. 
At the noise, the Old Man jumped out of ’is room, 
gun in ’and, and ’e shot at Carew’s voice. Carew 
grabbed the gun, and banged ’im over the eye with 
it, and the Old Man went down across ’is doorway. 
Then Ruth popped out o’ ’er room, and Carew 
grabbed ’er. She fought like the devil. Then you 
bust in with your belayin’-pin. 

“After they ’ad choked you, an’ after Carew ’ad 
got to ’is feet and pulled the lass away from ’uggin’ 
and kissin’ you, Carew and Ichi began to confab. 
It was English, and I ’eard a bit. Ichi w r ent to the 
Old Man, ’oo was breathin’ heavy, and examined 
’im like ’e was a sure enough sawbones. ’E says the 
Old Man is just knocked out, and no fracture. ’E 
takes the Old Man’s keys. Then Carew ’as a couple 
o’ ’ands hoist the Old Man into ’is bunk, and ’e 
says to the lass as ’ow she can ’tend to the skipper. 
Ruth bounces into the room and slams an’ locks the 
door. Carew laughs and turns to business. 

“An’ what do ye think ’is first order was? To 



226 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


’ave the cook aft. In a jiffy, they 'ad Charley Bo 
Yip afore ’im. ’E ordered grub—slathers o’ grub, 
immediate, for fifteen. Yip took the order without 
turnin’ a ’air—trust a Chink for that. Then they 
give us attention, an’ they lift the trap an’ dump 
us down ’ere. They leave you where you fell, but 
they boosted me along to this ’ere stanchion and, 
while Carew tickled my shoulder-blades with a knife, 
Ichi, using the skipper’s key, trussed me up around 
the post. Then they went aloft again, slippin’ the 
cuffs on you as they passed, I think, for they didn’t 
do it in the cabin. 

“Well, in fifteen minutes they were back—’alf 
dozen o’ them, with Yip, and plenty o’ lanterns. 
Breaking out stores for Yip. Yip never looks at me 
till he’s ready to go aloft again. Then, making 
sure I can see ’is mug, ’e tips me a big wink. That 
means something, Martin. They’re deep uns them 
Chinks. 

“That’s all. I sat there, cuffed up proper, for 
hours, cussing, and thinking, and calling to you. 
Hours! Swiggle me stiff, ’twas a bloody lifetime, 
it seemed like. About five or six hours though, I 
think—must be about seven or eight o’clock now. 

“That’s all that ’appened. But I’ll tell you what 
I learned from Carew’s and Ichi’s talk, and from 
lookin’ at them. They’ve been cast away, lad! 
That’s why we didn’t sight the schooner when w T e 
looked for ’er. The Dawn was wrecked, some time 
ago. Carew ordered food for fifteen—the Dawn 
was fitted for seal ’unting, and carried a crew o’ 




IN THE LAZARET 


227 


nigh thirty. That shows only ’alf were saved—a 
bad wreck. 

“They ordered grub first thing—shows they 
didn’t save stores, and ’ave been starvin’ ashore. 
Must ’ave saved a boat though, or they couldn’t ’ave 
boarded us. Must ’ave seen us come in; spied us 
from one o’ the caves in the wolcano, an’ we could 
not see them. The blasted fog just played into their 
’ands. ’Aving been ashore, they must ’ave found 
the ambergrease. They needed a ship, and they 
took us. And there ye are! Sails dead, Little Billy 
dead, God knows ’ow many o’ the crew gone, the 
lass at the whim o’ Wild Bob Carew. Ow, what a 
bit o’ blasted luck! Swiggle me stiff!” 

The boatswain growled desperate oaths to him¬ 
self. For a few moments he gave himself up to 
lurid and audible thought. 

Martin, in as black a mood himself, kept his 
peace, but he, too, spent the time in thought, in 
gloomy surmising, in attempting to form some plan 
of action. “What to do—what to do!” The re¬ 
frain sang in his troubled mind. They must act, and 
act quickly. Ruth’s safety, and the lives of their 
comrades, if any were alive, depended on the boat¬ 
swain and himself. But—what to do? 

Though they were free of their bonds, they were 
still boxed in this storeroom like rats in a trap! 
Obviously the first thing to do was to get out of the 
lazaret. 

Martin commenced to formulate a hazy plan 
of lurking beneath the trap-door until opened from 
above, and then trying to burst into the cabin, trust- 


228 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


ing to luck aiding them there. A mad plan, fore¬ 
doomed to failure, he conceded to himself, even as 
he thought of it. But, what else? They must act! 
Ruth . . . 

In the somber field of Martin’s misery bloomed 
a tiny flower; and whenever his mental eye rested 
upon this exotic, a sudden glow of happiness per¬ 
vaded his being. This bright flower was a memory 
—the thought of himself lying helpless on the cabin 
floor, while two soft arms pressed his sore-addled 
head to a protecting bosom, and warm lips caressed 
his face, and a dear voice entreated; the thought of 
the boatswain’s confirming words, “Carew pulled the 
lass away from ’uggin’ and kissin’ you.” 

So, she loved him! She returned his love! The 
love he had seen lighting her eyes, but which he could 
never force her to acknowledge by words, she had 
unmistakably admitted by action. In that black 
moment in the cabin, she had bared her heart to 
him—hared it fearlessly before all that hostile, 
leering company. His love was returned. Ruth 
loved him! 

Such was the origin of the exultant thrills that 
shot brightly through Martin’s despair. But the 
triumphant thought was momentary. Love could 
not brighten their lot; nay, love but made more 
numerous the grim host of cruel fears that pressed 
upon him. Ruth—God! What would happen to 
Ruth, what had happened to her, what was hap¬ 
pening to her even now, while he sat mooning, 
cooped and helpless in this black hole? It was un¬ 
endurable ! He exploded a fierce oath. 


IN THE LAZARET 229 

“Bosun, we must do something—now—at once!” 
he cried. 

The giant placed a restraining hand upon his 
shoulder. 

“Easy lad! Not so loud, or ye’ll ’ave them com¬ 
ing down for a look-see. We don’t want that,” he 
admonished. “Steady! I know ’ow you feel—but 
raising a rumpus down ’ere won’t ’elp us none. We’ll 
do something right enough. I got a plan, didn’t I 
tell ye! I was just thinking it out—’ere, I’ll tell 
you. First, though, let’s fix these bleedin’ irons, in 
case they pay us a visit.” 

He leaned over, searching about on the dark deck, 
and Martin heard the clinking as he gathered up the 
cuffs. He fiddled with them for a moment. 

“ ’Ere, Martin, stick out your ’ands!” 

Martin complied, and felt the handcuffs close 
about his wrists. 

“See if you can pull your ’ands out.” 

Martin found he could, easily. 

“All right—just keep them ’anging from one 
wrist,” said the boatswain. “In case they come 
down on us, v/e don’t want them to find us loose. 
Just clap your ’ands he’ind you and slip your irons 
on. I ’ave mine fixed, too, and I’ll be ’uggin’ the 
post in the same old way. They won’t think o’ 
examinin’ us.” 

“But we can’t lounge here indefinitely,” com¬ 
menced Martin impatiently. 

“We’ll bide quiet for a bit,” said the boatswain. 
“I ’ave a ’unch they’ll be coming down soon to give 
us some scoffin’s. They wouldn’t ’ave gone to the 



230 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


trouble o’ chuckin’ us down ’ere if they was going 
to kill us off’and. And they won’t starve us to death 
—they’ll feed us till they get ready to slit our throats 
an’ dump us overside. And if ye strain your ears, 
lad, you’ll ’ear the occasional rattle o’ dishes over- 
’ead. They are eatin’ up there. Now, what’s the 
natural time to send scoffin’s below to the prisoners? 
Why, thinks I, after they ’ave their own bellies full, 
and Charley Bo Yip is clearin’ away the leavin’s. 
If they don’t come in an ’alf-hour or so, I’ll com¬ 
mence work.” 

Martin immediately proposed rushing the hatch 
as soon as it was opened. The boatswain vetoed 
the proposal. 

“They’d slaughter us, lad. We’d never ’ave a 
chance. No—’ere’s my scheme: We can get out o’ 
this lazaret into the ’old. Aye, that’s something 
ye didn’t know, isn’t it? Nor does Ichi know, for 
all ’e was cook aboard. One time, some years ago, 
we was tradin’ in the New ’Ebrides, and the Old 
Man stowed some o’ ’is trade stuff in the after’old. 
’E ’ad a door cut in the for’rd bulk’ead, ’ere, so ’e 
could get at the goods without opening the ’atch on 
deck. Afterward, we boarded it up—but the boards 
aren’t nailed; just ’eld by cleats. Right at the for’rd 
end o’ this alley we’re squattin in, be’ind the beef 
casks. We can get through into the ’old.” 

“What good will it do?” queried Martin. “We 
would be just as much prisoners in the hold as where 
we are. The hatches are battened down.” 

“Don’t ye see? We can make our way for’rd, 
there being naught but a bit o’ ballast in the ’ooker. 


IN THE LAZARET 


231 


And from the fore’old I think we can reach deck by 
way o’ the peak. The two of us ought to be able to 
bust our way into the peak. And ye know where the 
forepeak ’atch is—in the middle o’ the fo'c’s’le 
deck! Well, I figure they ’ave what’s left o’ our 
foremast crowd locked in the fo’c’s’le. Aye, I figure 
there is some o’ them left. If Carew ’ad meant to 
make a clean sweep at once, we’d not be down ’ere. 
So—if we can get into the fo’c’s’le and join our 
lads, the odds won’t be so great against us. Be 
great enough, though, even if most o’ our ’ands are 
safe; swiggle me, fifteen o’ them, and the blighters 
’ave the use o’ our own guns, out of the cabin. 

“But our lads are good boys. They’ll fight if 
we get to them to lead them; every man Jack would 

go to - for the lass! And if we can bust out 

on deck, there’s capstan bars and belaying-pins to 
fight with. It’s a long chance, Martin, but a better 
one than your plan would give us, tryin’ to break 
into the cabin from ’ere, just us two, and gettin’ 
knocked on the ’ead, or shot, soon as we started 
through the ’atch!” 

Better than his plan! Why, it was a definite 
campaign. A flame of hope kindled in Martin’s 
breast. He was for immediate action. 

“Come on—let’s start!” he exclaimed, and he 
started to scramble to his feet. 

“ ’Ere—’old on!” exclaimed the boatswain, pull¬ 
ing him back on his haunches. “Swiggle me, don’t 
fly up like that, lad! Keep your ’ead cool. We got 
to wait a bit. We don’t want them cornin’ down 
’ere to find we’ve did the wanishin’ stunt. We got 



232 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


to pull this off as a surprise. We ought to wait till 
night when ’alf o’ them, at least, would be asleep; 
but, blim-me, I can’t wait till then, nor can you. But 
we’ll wait a little while an’ see if they bring us 
grub; if they do, we can be pretty sure they won’t 
visit us again for several hours. That’ll give us 
time. Hist, Marty, ’ere comes some one now! 
Quick, slip on your ’andcuff and play ’alf dead!” 

Some thin points of light, suddenly shooting into 
their dark prison, from around the edges of the 
trap-door over their heads, gave rise to the boat¬ 
swain’s exclamations. Martin, observing the light 
at the same instant as the bosun, knew that the rug 
that covered the square in the cabin floor had been 
drawn aside. Some one was about to come down to 
them,. 

Martin bent his arms behind him and quickly 
slipped his free hand into the handcuff. Then he 
lay down on his side. 

The boatswain encircled the stanchion with his 
arms and legs and adjusted the loose manacles to 
his wrists and ankles. Except to a close examina¬ 
tion, the pair appeared to be as tightly shackled as 
when their captors introduced them into their pres¬ 
ent surroundings. They crouched tense and still, 
their eyes on the square door overhead, waiting. 

The trap-door opened. A flood of daylight 
rushed into the storeroom and lighted a wide patch 
of boxes and kegs; not, however, reaching to the 
spot where Martin and the boatswain lay. 

“Fog gone,” Martin heard his companion mutter. 


IN THE LAZARET 


233 


A man stepped into the light, bearing a lighted 
lantern in his hand, and started to descend the lad¬ 
der. But it was not Charley Bo Yip with food, 
as the boatswain had expected. It was the Japanese, 
Ichi. 

Ichi stepped out of the square of daylight at the 
bottom of the ladder, lifted his lantern, and sent its 
beam down the gloomy passage. The two observant 
prisoners were disclosed. 

u Ah, Mr. Blake! I perceive you have regained 
consciousness, and the power of locomotion,” came 
to Martin’s ears in the softly modulated, even voice 
he so well remembered as being part of the one-time 
visitor to Josiah Sm'att. “May I inquire if you have 
also recovered speech?” added Ichi. 

“Answer ’im,” whispered the boatswain, as Mar¬ 
tin lay silent and glowering. 

“Yes,” said Martin. 

“Ah, my dear boatswain, Henry, is a wise coun¬ 
selor,” remarked Ichi, proving the acuteness of his 
hearing. “You are to be congratulated, Mr. Blake. 
One does not usually recover with such admirable 
quickness from the effects of the cervical plexus hold 
my man, Moto, practised upon you. And you, my 
good boatswain—it is with great pleasure that I 
perceive the workings of Fate have chastened the— 
er, boisterousness I remember so well from the days 
of my servitude.” 

The words were mocking. The Jap was clearly 
revealed where he stood, with the patch of daylight 
behind him, and the outheld lantern before him. 


234 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Martin could not read a thought in that bland, 
smiling face. But the words mocked. 

“Ye monkey-faced, yellow toad!” burst forth the 
boatswain. “If I ’ad the use o’ my ’ands, ye’d not 
stand there grinnin’!” 

“Ah, it grieves to discover I am in error,” was 
Ichi’s smiling response to the outburst. “The les¬ 
sons Fate teaches are learned slowly by rebellious 
natures. My good boatswain, I would recommend 
your heated mind to solitude and meditation. If 
you think with much hardness upon the uncertainties 
of life, you may achieve that humility of spirit and 
manner which is so blessed in the eyes of our an¬ 
cestors.” 

Ichi stepped forward a pace and lifted higher his 
lantern, the better to enjoy the effect of his words 
upon the shackled giant. 

“My dear boatswain, do you recall the occasion 
v/hen my honored self so unfortunately spilled upon 
your decks of whiteness the grease from the cook¬ 
ing; and how with great furiousness you applied to 
my respected person the knotted end of a rope? 
Ah, so then, it would perhaps add interest to your 
meditation to ponder the possibleness of physical 
persuasion to correct your faults—in the guise of 
the fingers of my good Moto! You have beheld 
the handling of the worthy Mr. Blake—yes?” 

A vindictive note had crept into their visitor’s 
soft, impersonal voice as he gibed the boatswain. 
Martin, staring upward at the lantern-lighted face, 
half expected to see the smirk flee the lips that 
threatened torture, and the hateful passions that 


IN THE LAZARET 


235 


inspired Ichi’s gloating to reveal themselves in his 
features. But no hint of emotion disturbed the sur¬ 
face of that bland, yellow mask the one-time sea 
cook wore for a face; only the eyes were leagued 
with the sinister voice. Martin fancied he saw a 
cruel and mirthful gleam in Ichi’s beady eyes, such 
a gleam as might creep into the eyes of a cat while 
playing with a captured mouse. 

But the boatswain seemed not a whit appalled by 
Ichi’s words. His response was prompt, and liber¬ 
ally tinged with sulfur and brimstone. 

“Aye, I remember rope’s-ending you, ye rat-eyed 
son o’ a Hakodate gutter-snipe! If I ’ad my ’ands 
free now, I’d do worse—I’d pull your rotten ’ead 
from your shoulders! Aye, swiggle me, ’tis like 
your breed to mock a man what’s tied, ye blasted 
coolie!” 

At the words, expression suddenly enlivened the 
Jap’s face and to Martin’s astonishment it was not 
an expression of hate but of wounded conceit. 

“No, no, I am not a coolie!” he exclaimed ve¬ 
hemently. “I am not of common blood—I am a 
gentleman, a Japanese gentleman!” 

The boatswain snorted contemptuously, and Ichi 
turned to Martin. “You are with knowledge of my 
gentlemanness, my dear Mr. Blake! You have seen 
me with proper attire, having conference with the 
honorable Smatt. I am a Japanese gentleman, sir. 
I have from my revered ancestors the blood of a 
Shogun. I am graduated from the University of 
Tokyo. I have a degree from your own most hon¬ 
orable institution of Columbia.” 


236 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Ow-your ruddy eddication!” broke in the 

boatswain. “Ye bloody murderer! Ye’ll ’ang if 
you’ve gone to a dozen colleges! Wait till they ’ear 
about this business at ’ome, or in any port ye call 
at! They’ll know the brig—and ye’ll ’ang, every 
last scut o’ ye!” 

The Japanese gentleman recovered his composure 
as suddenly as he had lost it, as the boatswain swore. 
He was again his suave self. Martin cast a quick 
glance toward the boatswain, and a certain sly ex¬ 
pression that flitted across the giant’s fierce features 
enlightened him. He glimpsed the method in the 
boatswain’s madness. 

“Ah, my boatswain, you have a defect in your 
reflectiveness,” Ichi purred smoothly, in response 
to the boatswain’s prophecy. “We do not fear 
hanging; rather will events shape thusly: If the 
authorities of your America learn by some unlikely 
favor of Fate of our barratry, they will say, ‘The 
brigantine Cohasset, commanded by the notorious 
filibuster, Captain Dabney, which slipped out of San 
Francisco without clearance—yes, we know that, my 
worthy friend—is again in trouble. The trouble has 
happened in Russian waters—let the Russians at¬ 
tend to it. We are satisfied if the respected Dabney 
never again is able to arouse our worriness.’ Is it 
not so the American officials would speak, Mr. 
Henry?” 

The boatswain swore luridly. 

“And the Russians, if the affair came to their 
attention, would move not at all against us,” went 
on Ichi, smug pleasure in his voice. “Indeed, the 



IN THE LAZARET 


237 


chartered company might even reward us for re¬ 
moving one of such dangerousness as Captain Dab¬ 
ney from their trade reserves. And if you suppose 
my Government would act, I fear you underestimate 
with greatness the powerfulness of my connections in 
my country. No, my dear boatswain, it is most 
unlikely this incident will ever reach unfriendly ears, 
or ever cross the Pacific. You might meditate upon 
your chance to carry the tale.” 

“Ye may slit all our throats,” said the boatswain, 
“but as long as the old brig’s above water, there’s 
the evidence that’ll ’ang ye.” 

“Ah—not so,” answered Ichi. “There are many 
closed harbors in my native Yezzo, and the honor¬ 
able Captain Carew assures me that rigs may be 
altered. The honorable captain will have a new 
schooner, to replace the Dawn, for next year’s sea¬ 
son—and at slight expense to my company. A skil¬ 
ful man in his profession—the honorable Carew!” 

“Skilful -!” taunted the boatswain. “’E 

wasn’t skilful enough to save ’is ship!” 

“Fate. A night of darkness, and much wind,” 
said Ichi. “Yet Fate relented—for, after a week 
of starving in the holes on the quaking island, Fate 
sends you to our rescue. Fate smiles upon our side, 
my boatswain—brings us to the Fire Mountain, 
plays you into the trap, gives to the honorable 
Carew his wish, and now, only-” 

A heavy voice boomed down through the open 
hatch and interrupted Ichi’s smirking revelations. 
Martin directed his gaze beyond the Jap. A man 
was leaning over the opening, peering into the laz- 




238 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


aret. The heavy voice belonged to Carew, Martin 
knew. 

“I say;—what is keeping you down there, Ichi?” 
called Carew. “Do you need help?” 

“All right, captain, directly we come!” answered 
Ichi. 

“Can’t you get the young blighter to his feet?” 
went on Carew. “I will send a couple of hands 
down, to heave him out.” 

“I am of the opinion he can walk,” replied Ichi. 
He turned to Martin. “My dear Mr. Blake, we 
muchly desire your presence in the cabin. Can you 
travel there without assistance?” 

Martin received a sharp, meaning glance from the 
boatswain. 

“Yes—I can make it,” he told Ichi. 

He promptly scrambled to his feet and stumbled 
toward the ladder. 

The boatswain wailed behind him. 

“Ow—swiggle me stiff! ’Ere now, Ichi, you ain’t 
goin’ to leave me down ’ere alone, all ironed up, 
and with these bleedin’ rats runnin’ about!” There 
was positive fear in the cry. 

Ichi chuckled. 

“Yes, Mr. Henry, I am convinced that solitude will 
benefit your manners. Ah—I had not thought of 
the rats. But surely the great bull boatswain of the 
Cohasset can not fear the little rats! Ah, I am glad 
you mentioned them; yes, they shall be companions 
of your meditations.” 

The boatswain, in a forcible sentence, disclosed 
his opinion of the Japanese gentleman’s ancestral 


IN THE LAZARET 


239 


line. Then, abruptly, his tone became conciliatory. 

“Ow—but say! Ye’ll send me some grub? 
Swiggle me, ye ain’t going to bloody well starve me, 
are ye ?” 

Ichi, retreating to the ladder before Martin’s 
advance, delivered his parting shot at the boatswain. 

“Fasting, my dear friend, is an ancient compan¬ 
ion of meditation. Tomorrow, perhaps, when 
thought has chastened your mood, there is a pos¬ 
sibleness you may receive food.” 

Martin mounted the ladder with mingled feelings; 
with dismay at leaving the boatswain, with a wild 
hope of encountering Ruth above, with exhilaration 
at the success of the boatswain’s strategy. 

For Martin had fathomed the boatswain’s reason 
for baiting the Japanese. The boatswain had known 
of the alloy of vanity in Ichi’s composition, and 
he had seized upon it to extract needful informa¬ 
tion. He had succeeded; Ichi’s conceit and vindic¬ 
tiveness had overcome his native caution. 

The boatswain knew now something of the en¬ 
emy’s plans. More important, he knew that he was 
to be left alone, without disturbance, in the lazaret 
for a whole day. Ichi had already stepped into the 
cabin with his lantern. Martin called into the gloom 
behind him: 

“Good-by, bos! Good luck!” 

He could not see his friend, but he shrewdly sus¬ 
pected the boatswain was already divesting himself 
of his bonds. The big fellow’s hoarse growl reached 
him: 

“Good-by, lad. Good luck!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 

D AYLIGHT, dazzling to Martin’s gloom- 
accustomed eyes, filled the Cohasset’s cabin. 
Martin’s upward ranging gaze, as he clam¬ 
bered out of the lazaret, saw, through the open 
cabin skylights, the blue sky and the sunshine spark¬ 
ling upon brass fixtures. So he knew the fog had 
lifted and the day was clear. 

He took a step aside from the lazaret hatch, and 
then sent his eager gaze about the cabin. But Ruth 
was not present. He was intensely disappointed. 

He stared hard at the closed door to Captain 
Dabney’s room, as if the very intensity of his 
troubled gaze might penetrate those blank oak pan¬ 
els. The boatswain had said Ruth was nursing the 
captain in that room. But was the boatswain’s opin¬ 
ion correct? Hours had passed. Was she still safe 
in the captain’s room? 

The slamming shut of the trap-door over the 
black hole by his side abruptly brought his thoughts 
back to himself, and his eyes to his surroundings. A 
man was leaning over, spreading out the rug that 
ordinarily covered the lazaret opening. Martin rec¬ 
ognized the fellow as the same wooden-faced Jap 
who had choked him unconscious a few hours before. 
Ichi, he discovered standing by his side, regarding 

240 


THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 241 


him with an ingratiating smile. But it was neither 
the ju-jitsu man nor Ichi who fastened Martin’s 
attention. 

A large man sprawled in Captain Dabney’s easy 
chair at the farther end of the cabin table. The 
table was littered with the debris of a meal, which 
Charley Bo Yip was phlegmatically and deftly clear¬ 
ing away, and Martin stared across the board’s dis¬ 
array at Wild Bob Carew’s disdainful face. The 
erstwhile commander of the schooner Dawn, his 
comrades’ unscrupulous enemy, his own rival, was 
the same aloof, superior rogue he remembered from 
the night in Spulvedo’s dive. 

As Martin looked, Carew engaged himself with 
filling and lighting his pipe, and seemed to be totally 
unconscious of the disheveled young man standing 
before him, with wrists manacled behind his back. 

Martin was again surprised, as he had been that 
night in San Francisco, with the incongruity of Wild 
Bob’s appearance contrasted with his activities. 
Was this splendid figure of a man the vicious outlaw 
of wide and evil repute? The renegade thief? The 
persecutor of women? The pitiless butcher of de¬ 
fenseless men? Were those fine, clean-cut features 
but a mask that covered an abyss of black evil? Did 
that broad forehead actually conceal the crafty, de¬ 
generate brain that planned and executed the bloody 
and treacherous piracy upon their ship? 

The haggardness of recent hardship was upon 
Carew’s features, and a week’s, or more, stubble of 
yellow beard covered his cheeks, yet the growth in 
nowise brutalized the handsome face. There was a 


242 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


long scar on Carew’s forehead, which glowed a vivid 
red as he sucked upon his pipe; there was also a wide 
cross of court-plaster on a clipped spot on top of the 
head. Martin suddenly realized that both disfigure¬ 
ments were his handiwork; one was a memento of 
the fight on the Frisco waterfront, the other the 
result of his blow the night before. 

Carew suddenly lifted his eyes and met Martin’s 
stare, and a cold thrill tingled along Martin’s spine. 
For there was a hot ferocity lighting the man’s eyes; 
there was a hot, yet calculated, hatred in the level 
look. 

Ichi’s suave voice broke the uneasy silence. 

“Mr. Blake, we have brought you up here for a 
little chat,” said Ichi. “And before we commence, 
I beg please to inform you I am your very dear 
friend, and I think of you no ill. So—will you not 
be seated?” 

Martin seated himself gingerly upon the edge of 
a chair. It was an uncomfortable position, and his 
arms ached keenly from being constrained in the 
unnatural position the handcuffs demanded, but he 
dare not slip out a hand and relieve himself. 

“Ah, let us trust none of the violence of epithet 
which marked my discourse with the worthy boat¬ 
swain Henry will mar our conversation, Mr. Blake,” 
went on Ichi. Martin perceived his conceit still 
smarted under the boatswain’s curses. “You are an 
American gentleman, the honorable Carew is an 
English gentleman, I am a Japanese gentleman. So, 
our discussion need not be intruded upon by those 
exclamations of great explosiveness w r ith which your 


THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 243 


wonderful English language is so enriched. We gen¬ 
tlemen have civility.” 

“Never mind talking manners, doctor!” broke in 
Carew impatiently. “It would please me if you 
would permit me to forget your gentility for an 
hour. Come to the point! State our proposition to 
this fellow, and let him m,ake his choice.” 

“The point. Ah, yes,” said Ichi. “You know, 
my captain, you people of the West are brutal with 
your directness. But I shall to the point. Ah, Mr. 
Blake, I am not mistaken in assuming you would 
with relishness accept refreshment? You would talk 
with more easiness?” 

“Water—coffee,” said Martin briefly. 

He was agreeably surprised by the question. He 
was again very, very dry, and his sore throat pained 
him and made speaking difficult. He was hungry, 
too, his supper the night before having been his last 
meal. He had been looking longingly at the food 
and drink the Chinaman was rapidly and silently 
removing from the table, which perhaps inspired 
Ichi’s question. 

“I will offer you drink,” said Ichi. 

Carew snorted disgustedly but did not offer an 
objection. 

“You will pardon us for not offering food,” went 
on Ichi, “but you would be unable to eat in your 
present condition of bondagement, and we regret 
muchly our disinclination to free your hands at this 
juncture. With arms free, you have impressed us 
most unfortunately.” 

Tie glanced toward Carew’s plastered head. Ca- 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


244 

rew disclosed some white, even teeth, with a half 
snarl, and Martin saw beneath the concealing mus¬ 
tache, as he had seen that night in San Francisco, 
the cruel mouth that gave the lie to Wild Bob’s face. 

“But your national beverage of coffee contains 
much food value,” added the Japanese, and he 
barked an order to the Chinaman. 

Yip seized a large cup, filled it with black coffee 
from the big percolator standing in the center of the 
table, and carried it to Martin. He held it to 
Martin’s lips. 

Martin drank eagerly, tilting back his head and 
staring upward into Yip’s face. He half expected to 
see some sign of friendship there, a fleeting smile, 
or the flutter of an eyelid. He recalled that Yip 
had winked at the boatswain, down in the lazaret, 
and the boatswain had attached importance to the 
action. But he was disappointed. There was not 
the hint of an emotion in Charley Bo Yip’s moon¬ 
like face; not the ghost of an encouraging recog¬ 
nition. Not even Ichi’s passionless countenance 
could match Yip’s serene, blank face for lack of 
expression. The Chinaman might have been pour¬ 
ing the coffee down a hopper, rather than down a 
man’s throat, from his impersonal demeanor. 

But if Yip disappointed, the coffee did not. The 
strong, hot stuff flooded strength through Martin’s 
veins, eased his smarting throat, lubricated his 
parched tongue. When Yip turned away with the 
empty cup, Martin heaved a satisfied sigh. 

“That is better,” he said to Ichi. “Fire away. I 
can talk now.” 


THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 245 


Ichi started off on a rambling and flowery ap¬ 
preciation of Martin’s implied thanks. Martin gave 
attention with his ears, but his eyes roved. He had 
been puzzled since his entry into the room by a 
certain oddity, familiar oddity, about the other 
men’s appearance. 

Carew was wearing a guernsey much too large 
for him, and Carew was a very big man. Martin 
suddenly recognized the guernsey as the property 
of the boatswain. Ichi was clad in shirt and trousers 
belonging to Little Billy—not a bad fit. The ju¬ 
jitsu man sported a complete outfit of his, Martin’s. 
Obviously, the belongings of the Cohasset 1 s crew 
had been looted to cover the scarecrow nakedness 
of the captors. 

Something else Martin noticed, while Dr. Ichi 
talked on with Oriental indirectness. There was a 
large cupboard affixed to the cabin’s forward bulk¬ 
head. It stood open and empty. Martin knew what 
its contents had been. It had been the ship’s armory; 
it had contained four high-powered rifles, two shot¬ 
guns, and four heavy navy revolvers, with a plenti¬ 
ful supply of ammunition for all arms. They were 
gone. He reflected they must be in the hands of 
Carew’s men. Not a pleasant reflection in view of 
the boatswain’s scheme. 

Carew, breaking roughly into Ichi’s speech, com¬ 
manded his attention. 

“Never mind all that, Ichi! By Jove! We can 
not afford to waste time listening to pretty cour¬ 
tesies!” He swung upon Martin with menacing eye 
and voice. “Here you! No - hedging now! 



246 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


What has become of the code writing that directed 
to the ambergris hidden ashore? Come—spit it 
out. Where is it?” 

Martin blinked with surprise at the sudden at¬ 
tack, and at the question itself. He and the boat¬ 
swain had taken it for granted that Carew, having 
been ashore on Fire Mountain, had obtained posses¬ 
sion of the treasure. The question implied that Ca¬ 
rew and his followers had failed to locate the cache; 
that he had been hauled out of the lazaret for the 
purpose of giving them information. 

“Come—speak up!” commanded Carew, again. 

Martin attempted to dissemble. 

“I don’t know anything about it,” he lied. “I 
have been a common sailor on the ship, and have 
not been in the confidence-” 

“Enough ! Spin that yarn to the marines. I want 
the truth!” cried Carew. “Common sailor—not in 
their confidence—hey? And since when has Old 
Man Dabney permitted his foremast hands to live 
aft? How long since Ruth Le Moyne takes a heart 
interest in common sailors? Hey?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, and shot the 
questions at Martin. His face was suddenly debased 
with evil passion, and bitter hatred was clearly re¬ 
vealed in his blazing eyes. 

“Listen to me, my fine fellow!” he went on. “You 
fooled me once and spoiled my plans with your 
double dealing. But this time you’ll throw no dust 
in my eyes! You’ll not get by with any cock-and- 
bull yarn this time. I know just how warmly you 
feathered your nest—humoring that old blind fool 



THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 247 

\ 

and making love to his granddaughter. A pretty 
reward opened to you by your treachery that night 
in Frisco—a fortune and a sweetheart to boot! 
Hey, my winsome fancy man! A fine chance you’ve 
had for your billing and cooing; but now by Heaven, 
you’ll pay the piper!” 

Martin gasped before the wordy onslaught. But 
Carew’s hot words, and his appearance, conveyed to 
Martin’s alert mind a startling truth—it was not 
lust for treasure that inspired Wild Bob’s verbal 
flogging, or venomous glances; it was jealousy, a 
wild, hate-filled jealousy of him, Martin Blake. 
Ruth was the core of Carew’s rage. 

“Com,e—where is that code?” went on Carew. 
“Speak up lively, now! By Heaven, if you sulk, 
I’ll jolly well draw the truth out of you! Here, 
Ichi, call up that finger devil of yours and we’ll see 
if a little gullet-twisting will loosen this cub’s tongue! 
Here—Moto!” 

The wooden-faced ju-jitsu man, who had been 
seated on the divan, got on his feet and moved 
toward Martin’s chair. His face was absolutely 
expressionless, his attitude impersonal, but he was 
rubbing his hands together and stroking his fingers 
as if to make them supple for the work that lay 
before them. 

Martin observed the maneuver with a suddenly 
contracted heart. He had a vivid recollection of the 
terrific pain that accompanied the former applica¬ 
tion of those writhing fingers to his person. He 
cautiously worked the handcuffs down upon his 


248 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

hands so that a quick movement would fling them 
off. 

If he was to be put to torture, he would first 
fight! He eye-marked a carving-knife lying on the 
table within leaping reach. 

But Ichi intervened and relieved the tension of 
the moment. He halted the businesslike bravo with 
a word. 

“Let us not use Moto just yet,” he said to Carew. 
“Our dear Mr. Blake does not understand, perhaps. 
We will explain the matter. I am sure he will not 
then be of stubbornness. You know what we de¬ 
cided upon, captain? We do not want to use Moto 
just yet.” 

“One would think you were advocate for the 
fellow,” sneered Wild Bob. “Oh, all right—have 
your way. We’ll save Moto till we call in the chit.” 

Moto resumed his seat at a nod from Ichi. Mar¬ 
tin breathed heavily with relief and relaxed, re¬ 
adjusting his bonds. Ichi turned to him. 

“My dear Mr. Blake,” commenced the Jap, “let 
me repeat that I am your very good friend. It makes 
me very, very sorrowful to view you in your present 
condition of uncomfortableness, and I trust you 
will reflect that resentment of Fate is idle. We un¬ 
derstand Fate, we gentlemen, and accept what the 
gods decree. 

“So, I will be of complete frankness in explaining 
our need, Mr. Blake. We thought it was ill fate 
when, seven days ago, our schooner was wrecked 
upon the rocks that guard this mountain. Even 
though we had searched with diligence for this very 


THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 249 


spot, we regarded it as fortune of much badness 
to be compelled to land on the Fire Mountain from 
an open boat, with but half our company, and with¬ 
out provisions. During days of hunger we cursed 
Fate. And all the while Fate was preparing our 
succor. So—if we are wise we accept Fate, Mr. 
Blake. 

“Yet Fate has not been of too great kindness 
to us, for we could not uncover the so precious lode- 
stone which drew us all to this desolate corner of the 
world. Fate intended we should wait until the hon¬ 
orable Cohasset should arrive. 

“You see, the translation of the scarlet writing 
which the eminent and worthy Smatt furnished us, 
after the occasion of your unfortunate defection, 
was lost in the wreck. We had, we thought, a mem¬ 
ory of truthfulness of the paper, for we had read 
it muchly. We were mistaken. We have not dis¬ 
covered the ambergris, though we have searched 
with industriousness. 

“We have also searched the ship for the original 
writing. We have not as yet obtained it. The 
young woman has informed us with much readiness 
of a place where the paper is. But there are certain 
reasons—” Ichi glanced at Carew—“why we may 
not test the truth of Miss Le Moyne’s statement. 

“So, we look to you, my dear Mr. Blake, to en¬ 
lighten us, to dispute to verify the young woman’s 
words. We ask you, where is the whaling man’s 
writing? And before you give answer, I would with 
much earnestness beg of you to reflect that Fate is 
undoubtedly with us, that you and yours have not 


250 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


favor with the gods. It is wisdom to accept Fate! 
And reflect also, please, that the young woman’s 
immunity from—let us say—physical persuasion to 
speak, does not extend to your respected self. And 
bear in mind, please, that the throat-hold you have 
already experienced is by no means the hold of most 
painfulness, out of the several score my Moto is 
of expertness in applying. So—where is the code?” 

“Come, spit it out!” growled Carew. 

Martin reflected, though not upon Fate, as the 
Japanese advised. He knew he must speak. Moto 
was quietly massaging his deadly fingers, and Martin 
did not relish the torture he knew those digits could 
inflict. But should he speak truth? 

He wondered if Ruth had really answered their 
question, and if she had told them truly where the 
writing was. One thing vastly cheered him—he 
gathered from Ichi’s words that Ruth was safe 
from molestation so far. He decided he had best 
tell them the truth. It would not help them, and it 
could not harm Little Billy, for poor Billy was gone. 

“Billy Corcoran has the code,” he said. “I saw 
him place it in his pocket last night.” 

“Ah—so!” exclaimed Ichi. He exchanged a sig¬ 
nificant glance with Carew. “What unfortunateness! 
Just as the young woman said!” 

“Little Billy, eh!” said Wild Bob. “Well, young 
fellow, can you tell us what became of that blasted 
hunchback?” 

Martin almost leaped from his chair. What! 
Had Little Billy escaped? Did they know what 
had become of Little Billy? Martin had accepted 


THREE GENTLEMEN CONVERSE 251 


without question the fact that Little Billy was dead. 
The probabilities, and the boatswain’s conviction, 
had convinced him. But now . . . 

“I don’t know what has become of him,” he told 
Carew. “You ought to know. He had the watch 
on deck when you came out of the fog, last night.” 

“-queer!” muttered Carew. Then to Ichi: “I 

tell you, doctor, he must have been settled and 
dumped overside with the rest. We fixed every one 
who was awake, except this fellow, Blake. The 
hunchback must have been knifed and thrown over 
without being recognized.” 

“No, there were only three, and the cripple was 
not of them,” returned Ichi. 

Not of them! Martin’s heart was pounding joy¬ 
fully. Then Little Billy was alive. 

“Well, he isn’t on the ship,” asserted Carew. “He 
isn’t in the hold with that fo’c’s’le crowd, nor aft, 
here, nor hidden anywhere about the vessel. We 
know that. Let us not waste any more time—we’ll 
get the information the other way. Call in the minx. 
Perhaps it will tame some of that cursed spirit of 
hers to witness her pretty darling, here, being made 
uncomfortable!” 

He accompanied his remark with a hateful glance 
toward Martin, a glance that was filled with cruel 
anticipation. But neither look nor words much dis¬ 
quieted Martin’s mounting spirits. “In the hold 
with the fo’c’s’le crowd!” Carew had said. Then 
the boatswain would not have to chance breaking 
into the forepeak. He need only get into the hold 
to join the remnant of the crew, and it was a stout 



252 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


remnant if only three had been slaughtered. Why, 
the boatswain must already have joined them; be 
leading them now in an attempt to break out of the 
hold. And Little Billy was alive, and at large! 

Martin wriggled his wrists in the handcuffs and 
stiffened tensely in his seat. Almost, he expected to 
hear that instant the commotions of battle from 
the deck, and to see his friends burst into the cabin. 
He eyed wistfully the carving-knife on the table and 
marked it for his weapon. No, he could contem¬ 
plate these thugs about him now without that hope¬ 
less sinking of the heart; he could even withstand 
torture with fortitude born of hope. For there was 
a fighting chance. 

“Go knock on the door and fetch her out,” said 
Carew to Ichi. To the silent Moto he added: “All 
right, Moto, we are ready for you. Stand by!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


TWO MEN AND A MAID 

I CHI rapped softly on the door of Captain Dab¬ 
ney’s room. The door opened a space, and a 
clear, fearless voice demanded— 

“Well, what do you wish?” 

The happy thrill Martin felt at the sound of that 
undaunted voice was nowise dampened by the knowl¬ 
edge that Moto, the torturer, stood behind his chair, 
with fingers ready to Carew’s bidding. Martin, for 
the instant, had but eyes and ears of love. 

“My dear miss, we would consider it a favor of 
much greatness if you would but spare us a few 
moments of your honored time,” said Ichi, bowing 
profoundly to the crack in the door. “If you will 
but grant us the delightfulness of your presence for 
a very short time—then you may return to careful¬ 
ness of the honorable Dabney.” 

Ruth stepped out of the berth and softly closed 
the door behind her. Then she faced about and saw 
Martin sitting stiffly on the edge of his chair, with 
his arms behind his back. 

“Oh, Martin!” she cried. 

Martin caught his breath as he returned her look, 
while a sudden surge of feeling clogged his throat 
and stabbed his heart with a thrust half pain, half 
pleasure. She was beautiful! She was gloriousj 

253 


254 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


She stood there, swaying easily to the gentle mo¬ 
tion of the riding ship, her wide-open eyes full upon 
his with a look that held a world of anxious love. 
Her face appeared like a bright, rare flower, in con¬ 
trast with her blue blouse and skirt, and the dark 
wood-paneling behind her. The night had placed 
its mark upon her features—there were dark circles 
beneath her eyes, and a droop at the corners of the 
sweet mouth. But courageous self-reliance was still 
her bearing; and the haggard hints of suffering on 
her face but enhanced its loveliness. 

She was glorious, superb! Martin, his own love 
in his kindling gaze, recalled of a sudden how she 
had looked that night when he had stolen the kiss. 
A glancing moonbeam had that time lighted her 
beauty. So, too, this time a light ray brightened 
her—a sunbeam darting through the open skylight 
set her in a golden frame. 

A sharp, sobbing intake of breath came from the 
head of the table where Carew sat. Ruth directed 
her gaze from Martin to the outlaw, and her mouth 
became grim, and her eyes, but now so soft with 
love, became hard and alert. 

Martin, too, looked at Wild Bob. And the sight 
of the man’s face brewed wild rage in Martin’s 
soul, stirred the elemental instinct that makes the 
male fight to keep his mate. For Carew was also 
staring at Ruth, much the same as Martin had been 
staring. His face was hungry, avid, with desire— 
desire for the wonderful woman before him. His 
very soul was in his burning gaze, and it was an 
ugly, bestial soul. 


TWO MEN AND A MAID 


255 


The man was mad—mad with love, insane with a 
heedless, reckless passion for the girl. Martin could 
well understand now Wild Bob Carew’s turbulent 
and persistent wooing of Ruth. His whole ruthless, 
lawless nature was dominated by his evil passion; 
for so long balked, his love had fed wildly upon itself 
till now it was his master. 

Yet, in that brief, illuminating moment when 
Martin regarded the other’s passion-heated coun¬ 
tenance, he beheld something that soothed his rage, 
checked his panic, and made his heart suddenly 
swell with pride and tenderness for his love. For 
behind the lustful glistening in Carew’s eyes there 
lurked a shadow of fear. 

Carew was afraid of the girl! Martin, with the 
lover’s insight, discerned and interpreted that lurk¬ 
ing shadow. For Carew’s fear was bred of man’s 
nature, and made strong by the intensity of his wild 
emotion; the fear was a vicious nature shamed, an 
impure love abashed, by the virgin goodness of the 
woman. 

The fleeting glance Martin had of the conflict in 
Carew’s mind conveyed meaningful information to 
his own love-sharpened senses. Carew was baffled 
by the girl. 

It was Ichi who interrupted the tense silence that 
followed Ruth’s entry. He beckoned to Yip, and 
then bowed low before Ruth. 

“But, miss, will you not be seated?” he said. 

Charley Bo Yip left his work at the table and 
brought a chair, placing it, at the Jap’s direction, 
directly opposite Martin, but several feet distant. 


256 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Ruth sat down, ignoring Ichi, but smiling an ac¬ 
knowledgment of the service to the impassive China¬ 
man. Her hand, Martin noticed, brushed against 
Yip’s hand as she took her seat. Yip returned to 
his labors and immediately left the cabin with a 
tray-load of dishes. 

Martin’s speech at last broke through the host 
of emotions and impressions that had swarmed upon 
him during the past few moments. Ruth’s eyes were 
on him again. For a moment there was a swift, 
though broken, conversation. 

“Oh, Ruth, how is it with you? Have they-” 

“Safe, Martin. And you—oh, the beasts! Your 
arms!” 

“Nothing, dear. Captain Dabney-” 

“Alive—unconscious. The bo’s’n—Billy? What 

“Billy’s alive, Ruth! Free! How-” 

“Enough of that!” broke in Carew roughly. “You 
two were not brought together for conversation. 
Any more of that chatter and I’ll have Moto place 
a finger on ‘dear Martin’s’ windpipe!” 

As if obeying an order already given, Moto be¬ 
came alive. Martin had for the time being for¬ 
gotten the ju-jitsu man standing behind his chair, 
but now Moto suddenly leaned forward and gently 
stroked his neck with long and supple fingers. 

Ruth’s eyes widened at the action, and horror 
crept into them as she looked past Martin and 
observed the cruel, impassive calm of Moto’s yellow 
face. She turned to Carew. 






TWO MEN AND A MAID 


257 


“You beast! Have you brought us together, then, 
to torture us?” she cried. 

Martin saw the red blood mantle the renegade’s 
cheeks. But Carew held check on his tongue. It 
was Ichi who answered the girl’s scornful words. 

“Torture? Ah—no, no! It is, ah, persuasion,” 
said Ichi. “But let us trust, my dear miss, you will 
not compel us to persuade. Believe me, my honored 
captain and myself are your very fine friends; it 
would muchly harrow our gentlemanness to order 
Moto to make painful the person of esteemed Mr. 
Blake, and thus make disturbful your own honor¬ 
able mind. We would not like to be hurtful to dear 
Mr. Blake—ah, no.” 

“You gloating, yellow cat!” was Ruth’s response. 
“Why, you are torturing him now. Look at his 
arms!” 

“Well, well! You seem to be greatly exercised 
over the comfort of your pet!” broke out Carew 
angrily; his mouth was sneering; Martin saw the 
devils of jealousy were prodding him. “Well, mi¬ 
lady, your fancy boy is ironed up because we have 
learned from somewhat harsh experience that he is 
rather impulsive in the use of his hands. I do not 
care to have him assault me and be compelled to 
kill him;—at least, not yet. His arms will remain 
as they are. And as to whether Moto will work 
upon him, why, that depends upon you, my girl!” 

Martin drew a breath of thankful relief. He 
had tried to check Ruth’s outburst with a frown; 
he feared her words might cause them to unlock 
the handcuffs. Cruelly as his arms ached, he much 


258 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


preferred the pain to having them discover the 
cuffs had been tampered with. If his bracelets were 
once closely examined, and they learned he could 
remove them at will, he knew that a prompt inves¬ 
tigation would forestall the boatswain. 

Carew’s decision pleased him. He knew there 
was no danger now of their loosing his bonds—they 
were pleased to see him suffer; Carew, because of 
jealousy, and Ichi, because of native cruelty. He 
determined to bear his lot with stoicism. If they 
were about to command this yellow fiend with the 
deadly fingers to torture him, why, he would stand 
it. He would not give them the satisfaction, nor 
Ruth the pain, of hearing him squeal. He would 
keep his arms behind him and his mouth shut though 
Moto did his worst. 

“It depends upon me? Why, what do you mean?” 
demanded Ruth, staring from Carew to Ichi. 

“Ah, yes, on you,” purred Ichi. “Just a mor¬ 
sel of information, you could with such easiness 
give- 

“Tell them nothing!” burst out Martin. “Don’t 
mind me, dear. They can’t hurt-” 

The fingers suddenly pressed hard upon a spot on 
the back of Martin’s neck. His speech was choked. 
Sharp pain flooded his body. Despite himself, Mar¬ 
tin squirmed. 

“Oh, you fiends! Stop! Stop!” cried Ruth. 

She sprang to her feet, with the evident intent of 
flinging herself upon Moto. Ichi grasped her two 
wrists. She exclaimed with pain and sank back into 
her seat. 




TWO MEN AND A MAID 


259 


“Here—stop that, Ichi!” roared Carew. “None 

of your-tricks with the girl! Don’t dare place 

a hand on her again! Be still, Ruth! Your darling 
is not being murdered ! Ease up, Moto! Next time 
wait for orders!” 

The fingers lifted from Martin’s neck. The relief 
from the shooting pain was instant, though his mis¬ 
used nerves continued to prick their protest. 

Ruth panted to master her emotion. Then she 
flung hot words at Carew, words colored with scorn 
and loathing. 

“Oh, you unspeakable brute!” she cried. “You 
coward! It is like you to find pleasure in inflicting 
pain upon a helpless man, and a defenseless woman! 
What is it you wish me to tell you ? Come, speak up. 
Don’t sit cringing in that chair!” 

“By Heaven, girl, you’ll go too far!” commenced 
Carew. 

“Ah—we wish to know such a little thing,” inter¬ 
rupted Ichi, answering Ruth’s demand. “We wish 
to know the directions that lead to the ambergris 
hidden ashore, in the mountain. Ah, yes, you recall 
you boasted of your knowledge of the code direc¬ 
tions, and dared us to unlock your memory? But 
now you will so nicely tell us—yes, please?” 

“Yes, that is what we are after, Ruth,” added 
Carew. “And, by Jove, you should be jolly well 
thanking me, instead of calling me names. You 
know well enough that but for me, Moto would be 
playing his fingers upon your nerves, instead of 
Blake’s.” 

“I see. And in order to spare me, you are going 



260 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


to torture this bound man in my presence, in order 
that his agony will make me speak!” retorted Ruth. 
“What a hypocritical beast you are, Captain Carew! 
I suppose that next you will apologize to Mr. Blake 
for the inconvenience my stubbornness is causing 
him. Of course, you are sorry for him!” 

Carew swore at the girl’s gibing. 

“Sorry!” he exclaimed. “By Heaven! I’d like to 
twist the young blighter’s neck with my bare hands! 
Don’t go too far, milady, or it will be the worse for 
this fine lover of yours!” 

He suddenly left his chair, and strode to Martin’s 
side. He favored Martin with an angry, jealous 
glare, and then turned tempestuously upon the girl. 

“Look at me, woman!” he cried. “By-! Am 

I not a man? Compare us, girl! Compare me with 
this half-baked cub you ogle so sweetly! Am I not 
the better man? Why, I could break that booby in 
two! Compare us, girl!” 

He drew himself up with shoulders back and stood 
there, a splendid figure of a man. His face was 
flushed and working, showing plainly the jealous pas¬ 
sions and the intolerable longing for the girl’s ap¬ 
proval which had whipped him into this melodra¬ 
matic outburst. Ruth faced him with silent, con¬ 
temptuous scorn. Martin’s gorge rose to fever 
pitch. With difficulty he restrained himself from 
slipping the cuffs and springing at the insolent ego¬ 
tist’s throat. 

“It is not ambergris I want!” went on Carew. 
“It is you, Ruth. I want you of your own free will. 
Look at me, Ruth! Am I hideous, or a weakling? 



TWO MEN AND A MAID 


261 


By Heaven! Women in plenty have come to me ere 
now, and without my pleading! I am the mate for 
you. This pup, this runaway clerk, has no right to 
you. I could kill him for his presumption! Come 
to me. Ruth, you shall be anything, everything, you 
wish! I’ll make you a fine lady—a queen—I know 
islands-” 

“An island wdiere you will install me as queen of 
your harem, I suppose,” interrupted Ruth acidly. 
“Have you informed the other ladies you mentioned 
of your intentions?” 

“You are the only one. There will never be an¬ 
other, I swear to you!” avowed Carew. “Those 
other women—they did not matter. But you—you 
will be my wife! A true marriage. I can give you 
a great name, a clean name, not the name of Carew.” 

“And I suppose we are to live up to your great 
name with the treasure I am to deliver into your 
hands?” scoffed Ruth. 

“No, no! I do not want you for that!” asserted 
Carew. “It is you, you alone! The ambergris goes 
to my employers, to Ichi, here, and his partners. I 
must get it for them. It is the bargain I made. My 
own share will not be great, Ruth; I would gladly 
give a hundred times as much for your favor. But 
I am rich, girl. I have plenty salted away. I’ll make 
my peace with my family, and we shall go home, to 
England. You’ll be my wife, my legal wife!” 

“I would rather be dead than your wife !” declared 
Ruth with vehemence. “I hate you!” 

“And I say I will take you, hating me, rather than 
lose you!” returned Carew. His manner of impas- 




262 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


sioned pleading changed abruptly to threatening. 
‘Til beg no more of you, my haughty minx! But 
I will suggest that you reflect upon the reality of 
your condition. In any event, what will become of 
yourself? Hey? And what will become of this 
darling crew of yours, we hold prisoners below? 
And what will become of this scrub, here in the chair 
—this apple of your eye?” 

“By Jove! You had better jolly well think about 
it! Would you rather have your grandfather, and 
the crew, and this lover of yours, set upon some safe 
shore—or, have the other thing happen to them? It 
rests with you!” 

Martin’s rage mounted to boiling-point during 
Wild Bob’s remarkable wooing. The man’s raw in¬ 
sults made him furious; the stormy browbeating of 
the woman he loved set him a-tingle with the strong¬ 
est desire he had ever known—a desire to fling him¬ 
self upon this sneering wretch and vindicate his man¬ 
hood by battle. His hands crawled in their restraint, 
in their lust to batter upon that supercilious face. 
But he dare not. He knew that an outbreak on his 
part would mean the death of their chance to regain 
the ship. 

So he held himself in check, biting his lips over his 
enforced impotence. But Carew’s final threat wrung 
speech from him, for he saw speculation in Ruth’s 
eyes, as she measured her tormentor. The dread¬ 
ful thought occurred to Martin, “Ruth will barter 
herself to save the rest of us!” 

“No, no, Ruth!” he cried out. “Pay no atten¬ 
tion!” 

“Shut up!” roared Carew, wheeling furiously 


TWO MEN AND A MAID 


263 


upon him. “If you speak again, I’ll have Moto put 
a clapper on your tongue I” He turned to Ruth 
again. “And now, my girl, you will do the begging! 
We’ll listen to you beg for this pretty boy! Are you 
going to tell us how to reach the ambergris or shall 
I order Moto to commence his work?’’ 

“The information—ah, but I am certain the lady 
will tell us with much gladness,” spoke up Ichi. 

He had been waiting patiently and impassively 
while Carew underwent his travail of heart. Now 
he was again his smirking, leering self. 

“You know ju-jitsu,” continued Carew. “Moto is 
an expert—he will pick your darling to pieces and 
make him a screaming lunatic, here, before your eyes, 
unless you speak. And if you speak, be sure and 
speak truth; for Blake goes ashore with the gang, 
and God help him if you direct us wrongly! Now 
decide, please!” 

Ruth looked at Martin soberly. Martin smiled at 
her, but his mind was busied with fresh information. 
He was to go ashore with the gang! So Carew said. 
Then this yellow band would be divided. If he could 
hold them ashore until the boatswain attempted his 
coup, the odds would not be so great against the 
Cohasset lads. If he only knew how the boatswain 
was progressing down below; whether he had gained 
to the forecastle crowd! Anyway, it was a chance 
to take. 

“Martin, dear, I had better tell them,” said Ruth. 

“Yes, yes, tell them,” urged Martin feverishly. 
“Why—I know the code myself, by heart. I’ll tell 
them.” 


264 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Ho, ho! See how your brave knight stands the 
gaff!” guffawed Carew to Ruth. 

Ruth stared searchingly at Martin. Martin 
writhed in spirit. He longed to shout to her that he 
was not craven, that it was policy dictated his course. 

But Ruth was evidently satisfied by what she saw 
in his face, for she smiled brightly and said without 
any trace of disappointment: 

“Of course, Martin. It would be foolish to allow 
them to torture the words out of either of us. I 
shall speak.” 

“Ah—but just a moment!” exclaimed Ichi. 

He drew a pencil and note-book from his pocket, 
and extended them to Ruth. 

“If the young lady will be of a kindness,” he said, 
“she will perhaps write the directions down on the 
paper. Then we shall compare it with dear Mr. 
Blake’s directions. Yes, please?” 

Ruth took the proffered articles and, without hesi¬ 
tation, scribbled a couple of lines. Ichi recovered 
the book. 

“Ah—so!” he exclaimed, after glancing at the 
writing. “Now, Mr. Blake, will you be of such a 
kindness? I make the comparing. Yes, please?” 

Martin spoke, also without hesitation. His 
memory was exceptional, and he had read often and 
attentively John Winters’ code writing. 

“South end beach—in elephant head—four star¬ 
board—windy cave—two port—aloft—north cor¬ 
ner dry cave,” Martin rattled off. 

“Ah! So, it is of a correctness!” sang out Ichi 
with more feeling than Martin had yet seen him 


TWO MEN AND A MAID 


265 


exhibit. He waved the book at Carew. “They 
speak the same. And observe, captain, here is our 
error so great. It says ‘aloft.’ We searched with 
much diligence all about, and beneath. But we did 
not search overhead—so missed the cave of dryness. 
But now, ah!” 

The little wretch almost danced for happiness. 

Carew accepted the intelligence with calmness. It 
was apparent to Martin that Carew had spoken true 
words to Ruth—the man was more interested in the 
girl than in the treasure. 

“Well, you had better go ashore after the stuff,” 
he said to Ichi. “Take a full boat’s crew, and Blake, 
here—yes, be sure and take Blake with you. I’ll 
remain aboard—snatch forty winks, if I can, for I’ll 
get no rest tonight if we pull out of this hole. You 
may return to your grandfather, Ruth!” 

Ruth stood up. She half turned, as if to step for 
the door of Captain Dabney’s room, then, swift as 
a flash, she darted to Martin’s side and threw her 
arms about him- Her cool cheek pressed against his 
for an instant, and she breathed swift words in his 
ear. 

“Courage, dear. There is a plan-” 

Carew, with a snarled oath, placed his hand upon 
her shoulder, and drew her away with some violence, 
though he lifted his hand immediately. 

“Nothing like that!” he admonished her. “By 
Heaven! I’ll not stand by and watch you cuddling 
that cub! Get back to your room—go!” 

Ruth threw a beaming, hope-filled glance to Mar¬ 
tin. Then Captain Dabney’s door closed behind her. 



CHAPTER XVIII 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 

T HE Japanese gentleman might ramble at 
length in his speech, but he proved himself 
to be direct and speedy enough in action. 
Martin found that Dr. Ichi was disposed to hurry. 
No sooner had Ruth disappeared within the captain’s 
room than he commenced to act upon Carew’s orders. 

A volley of staccato Japanese relieved the grim 
Moto of his sinister attendance upon Martin and 
sent him scurrying forward to the deck, to Martin’s 
vast satisfaction. 

Next, he held a low-voiced consultation with 
Carew, who had stretched himself out upon the 
divan at the after end of the room. This talk was 
inaudible to Martin, but at its conclusion Carew 
said: 

“Very well. If you find you need assistance, sig¬ 
nal off and I’ll send another boat. And if you are 
going to take Moto with you, have Asoki send a 
hand aft to stand guard in the cabin while I sleep. 
Best to keep an eye on the girl.” 

Ichi turned to Martin. 

“So we have made prepare,” he stated. 

He drew a revolver from his hip-pocket, examined 
it ostentatiously, and placed it carefully in a side 

coat-pocket. Martin, regarding the weapon with 

266 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 267 


covetous eyes, recognized it as one of the ship’s 
arms. 

“Now, my dear Mr. Blake, you will be of such 
kindness to go before me to the deck? Yes, please?” 

Martin arose promptly and started for the alley- 
way leading to the main deck. In his mind mingled 
triumph and trepidation—triumph because he knew 
that Ichi’s expedition to the shore would lessen the 
number of the crew holding the ship and thereby 
aid the boatswain’s plan for delivery which he was 
sure was maturing in the darkness of the hold; 
trepidation because despite his resolution to forti¬ 
tude he was more than a little uneasy concerning his 
own future. If he went ashore with Ichi, would he 
live to return? Had Carew given orders as to his 
disposition? He had intercepted glances filled with 
a smoldering hate, during that whispered conversa¬ 
tion a moment since. 

Martin had a feeling that he was the object of 
that discussion, there at the other end of the cabin. 
Was Carew whispering murderous orders into Ichi’s 
ready ear? The man was smarting under Ruth’s 
scorn. What more natural to Carew’s pitiless 
nature than to sop his mad jealousy with his rival’s 
death ? 

The Japanese gentleman, cruel and vindictive 
beneath his surface suavity, would, Martin felt, be 
pleased to put a period to his existence. Was it 
merely to cow him that Ichi so carefully examined 
his gun? Or was it to have cruel sport with him, 
as Ichi had attempted to have with the boatswain? 

“Whatever way,” ran Martin’s thought, “my job 


268 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


is to get as many of these yellow imps ashore as is 
possible, and hold them there as long as I can, so 
that the bosun, leading his outbreak, will have a 
chance of success. What if Ichi does let daylight 
through me? It is for Ruth!” 

Closely followed by Ichi, Martin traversed the 
passage and stepped out on deck, and found himself 
bathed with the sunlight of a bright, calm morning. 
At Ichi’s word, he paused outside the door. 

Ichi continued across the deck and spoke to a man 
who was shouting over the rail to a boat crew over¬ 
side. Martin recognized the man; he was the same 
bow-legged, muscular little Jap who had acted as his 
guide that night in the Black Cruiser. He wore an 
air of authority; Martin concluded he was the mate 
of Carew’s yellow following, perhaps the fellow, 
Asoki, Wild Bob had mentioned. 

The mate turned from Ichi and hallooed forward. 
A man who was sitting on the sunny deck, abaft the 
galley, arose and came aft in obedience to the hail. 
Martin saw the fellow carried one of the Cohasset’s 
rifles. He paused while Ichi gave him some terse 
directions, then he passed Martin and entered the 
cabin. Ichi and Asoki then proceeded to inspect the 
boat overside. 

Martin’s eager eyes ranged about the decks. 
What he saw did not encourage his hopes. For just 
before him, on the main hatch, sat two impassive 
yellow men, one with a rifle across his knees, the 
other holding a shotgun. Forward, the galley 
blocked his view of the fore-hatch; but an armed 
man leaned against the rail at the break of the fore- 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 269 


castle. So he knew that both hatches were well 
guarded from the deck. 

The two men on the main hatch were of alert 
and efficient appearance; and Martin knew that 
Carew’s men, being seal-hunters, must be experi¬ 
enced and expert shots. Martin regarded them 
gloomily. What chance for a successful rising in 
the face of these armed watch-dogs? The lads 
would be slaughtered, even though their numbers 
were even. 

The Japs before him were dressed in clothes he 
recognized as belonging to his shipmates. He con¬ 
cluded that the invaders were already domiciled in 
the forecastle; probably a half of them were even 
then occupying the imprisoned men’s bunks. Even 
so, the few armed men on deck would be more 
than a match for the boatswain. 

If he only knew what time the boatswain would 
make his attempt! It was ten in the morning now 
—he had noticed the cabin clock—and the boat¬ 
swain might wait till night, not knowing of the shore 
expedition. How long could he manage to hold the 
party ashore? If there only was some other, safer 
plan! Plan! What was it Ruth tried to tell him? 
Had she also a plan? 

Such were Martin’s troubled thoughts during the 
moment of his leisure. They were black bodings, 
and they almost killed the cheerful spark that had 
been born in his heart during the tilt of wits in the 
cabin. The menacing peace of the deck occupied all 
his mind. He barely noticed the mountain looming 
blackly beyond the ship’s bows, and on either side. 


270 


EIRE MOUNTAIN 


Smoke was pouring out of the galley smoke-stack. 
The rattle of pots against iron came to his ears. Yip 
w r as preparing another meal; the Japs, Martin re¬ 
flected, were not denying their stomachs. Probably 
making up for the enforced starvation they had 
lately suffered. 

He wondered if the men imprisoned in the hold 
had been given food, or whether they were being 
starved, like the boatswain, because of Dr. Ichi’s 
whim. Beneath the Japanese gentleman’s velvet 
exterior existed a merciless humor. He delighted in 
cruelty, and Martin sensed that, for some reason, he 
bore a sly and implacable hatred toward the entire 
company of the Cohasset. 

Martin wondered just what position Ichi filled in 
Carew’s following. In the cabin, his manner toward 
Carew had been of a man toward an equal, rather 
than a subordinate to a leader. Martin wondered if 
the yellow crew were at bottom Carew’s men or 
Ichi's. They jumped to Ichi’s orders; there, at the 
rail, Carew’s mate was actually fawning upon Ichi’s 
words. Ichi was plainly the owners’ man. 

Yip stuck his head out of the galley door, looked 
aft, and then withdrew from sight. Immediately 
after there issued from the galley the shrill cater¬ 
wauling of a Chinese song, and a renewed rattle 
of pots. 

Martin listened resentfully. Charley Bo Yip’s 
cheerful acceptance of change of masters angered 
him. He had been quite friendly with Yip during 
the passage, and he knew the Chinaman was a vet¬ 
eran of the Chinese revolution and a professed 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 271 


enemy of all Japanese. Yet here he was working 
for these same Japanese, apparently content with 
events, and serenely indifferent to the fate of his 
shipmates. During the scene in the cabin, Martin 
had divined from Ichi’s bearing toward Yip that 
the thugs from the Dawn regarded the Chinaman 
—or rather, disregarded him—contemptuously, as 
one of a despised and slavish race, born to serve 
obediently and menially. Which he was, thought 
Martin disgustedly. 

During this short period of his musing, Martin’s 
eyes were not idle. He suddenly was aware of the 
cause for Ichi’s delay. 

From the recesses forward appeared Moto and 
another man, coming aft. Moto carried a lantern 
in each hand, and the fellow who followed him bore 
a watch-tackle on his shoulder. As they passed the 
galley, Yip’s song ceased, and the Chinaman also 
stepped out on deck and ambled aft. 

Martin wasted no glance on the cook. He 
watched with interest the Japs. The burdens they 
bore were to aid in the exploration of the caves, 
he knew. At the sight of the lanterns, a dim plan 
for future action germinated in his mind. 

The two Japs reached the spot where Ichi and 
Asoki stood waiting. They handed their loads over 
the rail to the waiting hands below. Then they 
followed, by way of a Jacob’s ladder. 

Charley Bo Yip approached, bound for the cabin 
entrance. He passed close behind Martin, almost 
brushing against Martin’s handcuffed hands. He 
stepped on into the alleyway without slackening his 


272 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


stride, but Martin marked the silent passage with a 
suddenly thumping heart—for Yip had pressed a 
piece of paper into one of his manacled hands. Ichi 
turned to him and motioned— 

“Come, we are of readiness, Mr. Blake!” 

Martin twisted his hand around and thrust the 
paper into his hip pocket. Then he stepped forward 
to the rail. 

A couple of moments later, Martin sat in the 
stern-sheets of a whaleboat. He was much shaken 
and somewhat bruised from his attempt to negotiate 
a Jacob’s ladder with his hands behind him, but his 
swift descent had not dimmed his mind. His first 
thought, even as he clambered over the brig’s rail, 
was to count the men in the shore party. His fall 
hardly interrupted him. 

There were four men at the oars, he saw. And 
beside him stood Moto, manning the steering oar. 
On the opposite gunwale perched Ichi. Six of them! 

“That will leave nine of them aboard,” ran Mar¬ 
tin’s mind. “Ichi said only three were killed last 
night. They would be Rimoa and Oomak and 
MacLean. Then there are eight forecastle hands, 
and Chips, and the bosun, down below. Numbers 
are even, mpre than even! But odds! Oh, if only 
a couple of those rifles were in the bosun’s hands! 
If only Ichi would take them ashore!” 

Martin searched the boat with his eyes, but no 
firearms were visible. If the boatswain and the lads 
reached the deck, they would have those armed 
watchers to reckon with. Hopeless! 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 273 


At a sharp order from the steersman, the four 
oarsmen gave way smartly, and the boat left the 
ship’s side, headed beachward. It was not one of 
the Cohasset’s boats, Martin noted. The dingey, 
in which Little Billy had sounded to anchorage yes¬ 
terday, still rode to its painter under the counter. 
The rest of their own boats were still snug on the 
skids. The whale-boat was Carew’s boat in which 
he had boarded them. 

Little Billy! The sight of the dingey brought the 
hunchback into Martin’s racing thoughts. Where 
was Little Billy? The paper Yip had slipped him, 
fairly burned in his pocket. But, of course, he dare 
not attempt to read it here in the midst of his 
enemies. For he had not the slightest doubt the 
paper was a note written by Little Billy, and con¬ 
veyed by Yip’s friendly hand. 

Good old Yip! Martin felt shame of his recent 
low estimate of the Chinaman. Yip was fooling the 
Japs—perhaps coached by the safely hidden hunch¬ 
back ! 

Martin’s hopes leaped again. Why, thought he, 
with Little Billy’s fertile mind on the job, and Yip 
free and friendly, their chance of success in an out¬ 
break was greatly increased. Likely enough Little 
Billy was in communication with the men in the hold. 
A well-timed surprise might overcome the terrible 
handicap of the guns. If he only knew what that 
paper in his pocket contained! Well, perhaps he 
would know soon, if things went right. 

Ichi’s right side was toward him. Martin care¬ 
fully noted the revolver-butt peeping from the coat- 


274 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


pocket. That revolver occupied an important place 
in the plan that was forming in Martin’s mind. He 
carefully scanned the other occupants of the boat. 
So far as he could see their only weapons were 
sheath-knives. 

The tide was ebbing swiftly and the Cohasset 
tugged at her cable, bow on to the beach. The 
breach between the ship and the whale-boat 
widened; the panoramic view of the mountain and 
the little bay interrupted Martin’s thoughts. He 
twisted about in his seat, and sent his gaze about 
the cove in an encircling sweep, thus gaining his first 
clear idea of the actual geography of the place. 

Nature had formed the bay, he saw, by pinching 
a small chunk out of the huge cone of the volcano. 
The bay was a watery wedge cutting into the moun¬ 
tain to a depth of about twelve hundred yards, a 
half-mile wide at the entrance, and narrowing down 
to a bare half hundred yards of narrow beach at 
the point of the wedge. 

The Cohasset was anchored about five hundred 
yards from the beach, and at a like distance on either 
side of her the flanking cliffs rose sheer from the 
water. The waters of the bay were quiet, but, at 
the mouth, Martin saw the seas beating fiercely upon 
the girdling reef, smashing thunderously upon jut¬ 
ting, jagged rocks, and sending the white spray cas¬ 
cading into the sunshine. But he searched in vain 
for signs of a wreck. He interrupted Ichi’s reverie 
with a question. 

“Where did the Dawn strike?” 

To his surprise, the Japanese answered promptly. 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 275 


“On the opposite side of the island—on the reef. 
Ah, that was a happening of much terribleness, Mr. 
Blake. It was night and fog—the same utterly 
darkness that was of such disaster to you honorable 
gentlemen last night. Honorable Carew did not sus¬ 
pect the nearness of land. The rock pierced our 
bottom and we sank with immediateness. Ah—it 
was of much sadness! We saved not food or clothes 
and but half our number. We rowed away. 

“After while, there came to us a morning of much 
niceness, like the present one, and we found that the 
schooner had been altogether taken, as honorable 
Carew remarked by one god of the sea, named David 
Jones. So we rowed around the volcano and came 
in this bay, and I knew the place from the memory 
I had of hearing the reading, so long ago, in 
Honolulu. 

“Ah, but the days we spent here before the worthy 
Cohasset was sighted were days of much badness! 
We thought you had come and departed, for we 
did not find the ambergris. We thought we would 
all have to go out from hunger and exposure. We 
thought it would be of much sadness to go out in 
this place of blackness; the spirits of our honorable 
ancestors would regard us with much unkindness if 
we came from this evil place.” The man suddenly 
leered upon Martin. “How would you like to go 
out in this place of bleakness? Ah—what a sad¬ 
ness !” 

He turned and stared at the fantastic, brooding 
face of the rapidly nearing rock. 

“I will with frankness say I do not like this place,” 


276 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


he concluded. “I shall be of gladness when I see 
the last of that smoke, up there, and feel no more 
the shakes of awfulness.” 

They were within a few yards of the beach. Mar¬ 
tin stared upward. The mountain tapered steeply 
to the crater thousands of feet above him. The 
yellow-brown smoke poured upward lazily, and he 
was sensible, as on the day before, of an acrid, un¬ 
pleasant taste in the air. Also, as when he had 
obtained his first fog-obscured view of the mountain 
from the topgallantyard, he felt oppressed as he 
looked at that desolate wilderness of crazily jumbled 
rock towering above him; the sunlight, which spar¬ 
kled upon the water, failed to brighten the moun¬ 
tain’s somber tone, and the nightmare architecture 
looming above him shivered him with dread. 

The openings of numberless caves gaped blackly, 
like blind eyes. The myriad-voiced screeching of the 
sea-birds added to the bleakness of the aspect. As 
Moto swept the boat through the gentle surf that 
laved the little beach, the Fire Mountain was in¬ 
vested, in Martin’s excited mind, with personality, 
with a malignant, evil personality. 

In truth, Martin looked upon himself as doomed. 
“How would you like to go out?” Ichi had queried; 
and his manner had made the question a promise. 
Well, he would try not to go out alone. His work 
was cut out for him, and it was desperate work. 
There was slim chance, he knew, of surviving the 
execution of his plan, but he contemplated his prob¬ 
able death with the high courage of self-sacrifice. 

His life, he felt, was a small price to pay for the 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 277 


recovery of the ship and the freeing of his sweet¬ 
heart. For he was convinced that the boatswain’s 
success was dependent upon his keeping these six 
Japs on shore. He felt sure his comrades, warned 
by Yip and Little Billy, would seize the opportunity 
presented by Carew’s divided forces. He meant to 
fight to keep the Japs separated. 

As the boat grounded, and he stood up to leap 
ashore, he wriggled his wrists in the cuffs, making 
sure he could free himself with a jerk. He might 
die, but he vowed he would take some of these yellow 
devils with him on his passage out. 

Also, he reflected, it would make little difference 
to him, even if he remained docile. The issue would 
be the same. He was certain Ichi would murder him, 
so soon as the treasure was uncovered. He was 
certain Carew had commanded that very ending. 

So, it was with a mind made up to grasp any des¬ 
perate chance, with a courage utterly reckless, that 
Martin disembarked on the volcanic sand of Fire 
Mountain beach. 

They had landed at one end of the beach. The 
first object Martin’s curious eyes encountered was 
the “Elephant Head.” John Winters’ directions 
ran in his mind—“south end beach, in elephant 
head.” That curiously fashioned jutting rock was 
the elephant head; cleanly sculptured were the 
rounded head, slab ears, arched trunk, all gigantic. 
Beneath the rock-snout was a narrow slit about six 
feet high by half as wide. It was, Martin knew, 
the entrance the whaleman had written of. 


278 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


But Martin had little time to inspect the beach. 
Ichi commanded dispatch. Martin noticed with sur¬ 
prise that as soon as Ichi touched foot on the sand, 
his accustomed phlegm was replaced by visible nerv¬ 
ousness. 

Ichi ordered, and the four sailors ran the boat up 
on the beach. Then, Moto leading the way, carrying 
the two lanterns, they all trooped toward the cave 
entrance. 

Martin used his eyes as he walked. There were, 
he saw, many cave openings on a level with the beach. 
One in particular was a gaping cavern. Ichi, by his 
side, and talkative, indicated this place. 

“Where we lived,” he informed. “Very nasty 
place—damp, and of coldness. But our torches were 
poor, and driftwood of much scarceness, so we dare 
not investigate greatly the interior for better place. 
Our wood was all gone, and we feared muchly we 
must break up the boat, when Fate with so great 
a kindness sent the honorable Dabney to rescue us.” 

“A queer rescue, you murderous little wretch!” 
thought Martin. But aloud, he said, “What did you 
live on?” 

They had fallen behind the others. Martin con¬ 
sidered swiftly whether or not to fall upon his com¬ 
panion now. He was certain he could get the gun, 
and commence shooting, before the others assailed 
him. But he decided promptly that it would not do. 
They would witness the affair from the ship. 

“Oh—we eat the gulls,” replied Ichi. “And the 
shell-fish, and a seal that was dead—ah, he was long 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 279 


dead and of great nastiness! But mostly it was the 
shell-fish. See the many shells on the sand?” 

Martin looked. He gulped a swift, deep breath 
to keep from crying out, and stopped dead in his 
tracks. He stared into the yawning mouth of the 
cave Ichi was speaking about, his heart thumping 
furiously. Good Heaven! Had he seen a ghost? 
Was it a crazy trick of his overwrought mind? Or 
had he actually beheld, for a fraction of a second, 
a white face framed in the dense gloom of the cave’s 
interior? But that face! 

“Ah—but do not pause, my dear Mr. Blake,” said 
Ichi with a hint of sarcasm. “It is of great interest, 
I know, but the view that awaits you as we seek the 
ambergris inside, is of much more interestness. 
Come! See, our dear Moto has the lanterns 
lighted!” 

Martin with difficulty maintained a disinterested 
expression. He recovered his stride, and they joined 
the others beneath the overhanging elephant rock. 
Moto and Ichi held for a moment a chattering inter¬ 
change of their native speech. 

Martin peered into this other opening, his agi¬ 
tated mind half-expecting to see the startling vision 
again, flashing white in the interior blackness. But 
beyond a few feet of sand floor and black lava walls, 
he saw nothing. The opening in the elephant head 
led into a narrow gallery, a hallway into the 
rr ountain. 

A blast of hot, sulfur-tainted air swirled out of 
the opening. It made his eyes smart. Coincident- 
ally, his ears were assailed by strange sound. It 


280 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


came out of the black hole, and it was like the wail¬ 
ing of souls in torment. It was a dolorous whistling 
that increased to a shrill screeching, then died away 
sobbingly. 

Martin listened to that weird grief all a-prickle 
with shivery sensations. It was unnerving. 

Nor were his companions indifferent to the sound. 
The four sailors huddled quickly together and gazed 
fearfully into the dark opening. 

Moto chopped off short the word he was saying, 
and Martin saw his body stiffen and his eyes dilate. 
Even Ichi betrayed agitation, and Martin saw a vio¬ 
lent but quickly mastered emotion flit across his 
yellow features. 

The eery wail died quite away, and Martin’s scalp 
stopped crawling. Ichi turned to him with a some¬ 
what shaken smile; Martin saw that the Japanese 
gentleman’s nostrils were twitching nervously, and 
that his voluble speech was really an effort to regain 
composure. 

“Have no afraid. The sound of much strange¬ 
ness is from the cave of the wind,” said Ichi. “It 
is from the deep place. Now will come the shake, 
perhaps.” 

The shake came on the tail of Ichi’s words. A 
heavy, ominous rumbling came out of the black 
depths. Martin recalled hearing the same sound 
the day before, when he was on the topgallant-yard. 
And suddenly the hard, packed sand began to crawl 
beneath his feet, things swayed dizzily before his 
eyes, and a sharp nausea attacked the pit of his 
stomach. 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 281 


It was but a baby temblor, and it lasted but an 
instant. 

Martin was not much disturbed—a lifetime in San 
Francisco had made quakes a commonplace experi¬ 
ence—but he had the sudden thought that there were 
safer journeys in the world than the one he was 
about to take into the heart of a half-extinct vol¬ 
cano. Not that the probable danger of the trip 
impressed him sharply—he was too much occupied 
with his plight, and desperate plan—but it was evi¬ 
dent the Japs did not relish the undertaking. 

The four sailors and Moto were plainly terrified, 
and, as the trembling and rumbling ceased, they ex¬ 
claimed with awe and fear. Ichi held himself in 
hand, but his mouth sagged. 

“Always comes the strange noise, and then the 
shake,” he said to Martin. There was the hint of 
a quiver in his voice. “Out of the deep place, they 
come—like the struggles of Evil Ones!” 

Fie broke off to speak sharply to his men, bracing 
them with words. 

“They are of much ignorance,” he continued to 
Martin. “They have much fear. They know a silly 
story their mothers have told them, about the Evil 
Ones calling from the deep pit; it is a—what you 
say?— a folk story of the Japanese. These men 
are of ignorance. But we gentlemen know it is of 
absurdness, and most untrue. It is a story of great 
unscientificness.” 

Ichi rolled the last word off his tongue with diffi¬ 
cult triumph. “Unscientificness,” was evidently the 
club his Western education gave him, with which 


282 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


to combat the inbred superstition of centuries. But 
Martin saw it was a straw club. 

But if Ichi were frightened, he mastered his fear. 

“It will, perhaps, be some time till the next 
shake,” he told Martin. “We must haste. You shall 
follow me, please? And recall, as we walk, that 
Moto is but a pace behind you, and in fine readiness.” 

He chattered peremptory words to his followers. 
One of the sailors picked up a lantern, Moto stepped 
behind Martin, and Ichi lifted the other lantern and 
stepped toward the cave mouth. 

“You might look well at the sky, dear Mr. Blake,” 
he leered over his shoulder at Martin. “Who may 
say when you will see it again?” 

But Martin was in no mood to be frightened. 
Indeed, if he had put his hot thoughts into words, he 
would have replied to the sinister hint by inviting 
Ichi to take his last look at daylight. He did look 
at the sky, but it was for another purpose than 
bidding farewell to sunlight. He brought his gaze 
down to the waters of the bay. 

The Cohasset was quiet, lying peacefully on the 
easy water. Figures on her deck were plainly visible. 
Martin saw the bow-legged lieutenant standing on 
the poop, staring at the group on the beach. He saw 
more. 

The tide had swung the vessel around during the 
past few moments. She now lay broadside on to the 
beach. From a cabin port, he saw a bit of fluttering 
white. A lump rose in his throat. It was Ruth, he 
knew, waving him good-by. Dear Ruth! Yes, it was 
farewell! Farewell to life, perhaps, and to love, to 


THROUGH THE ELEPHANT’S HEAD 283 


this wonderful love that made him almost happy 
in his misery. The thought of his sweetheart cooped 
up in that little room with the stricken blind man, 
with only her resourceful wit and high courage to 
combat the leaguering terrors, steeled his resolve. 
He would play his part, he vowed to himself, no 
matter what the price he payed. God grant that his 
shipmates be enabled to play their part! 

“Ah—we wait, Mr. Blake!” came Ichi’s voice, 
and he was suddenly conscious that Moto’s hand 
was pressing his shoulder. 

Ichi was already inside, lantern held high. As 
Martin stepped for the opening, he cast a swift, 
sidelong glance down the beach, toward the big¬ 
mouthed cave. He saw nothing—which was what 
he expected. 

“I must have been mistaken,” he thought. “It 
must have been a trick of imagination.” 

He brushed past the man who had the watch- 
tackle coiled over a shoulder, and fell in behind Ichi. 
The last sound he heard from the outer world was 
the clear, vibrant sound of the ship’s bell. Five bells! 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 

D URING the voyage Martin had listened to 
many discussions between Little Billy and 
Captain Dabney concerning the formation 
of Fire Mountain, and their descriptions of the 
strange features of the island had made him impa¬ 
tient to see with his own eyes the grotesque sculp¬ 
tures, and with his own feet explore the mysterious 
caverns. 

In some long past age, argued the captain, the 
volcano had erupted during the Arctic winter, and 
the flowing lava had been quickly chilled by the 
intense cold, and in the hardening formed the odd 
sculpting and the numberless caves. But, urged the 
captain, this lava cloak could not be very thick, and 
while the caves existed from base to summit and all 
the way around the mountain, it was unlikely that 
any of them penetrated into the heart of the moun¬ 
tain. 

Little Billy disagreed. He cited John Winters’s 
log in disproof; and he and Martin made plans to 
thoroughly explore the island. The prospect 
charmed Martin. He felt he could hardly wait to 
reach Fire Mountain beach, and enter the gloomy 
depths through the portal of the Elephant Head on 
his errand of discovery. 


284 



THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


285 


And here at last he was on the very beach, step¬ 
ping through the very opening! How different was 
reality from his bright dreams? Instead of friendly 
company, he was surrounded by alien, hostile figures; 
instead of Ruth’s little hand snuggling confidingly in 
his, his arms were bound behind him; instead of 
inspecting his path with carefree, curious gaze, he 
looked about him with eyes of desperation. 

He had little interest in discovery as he stepped 
through the Elephant Head. The details of the 
physical appearance of the passageway were sharply 
impressed upon his mind, but they were subconscious 
impressions. His active mind was at the moment 
wholly concerned with his arms. They ached cruelly. 
Would they fail him? When he jerked them free, 
would he be able to use them? Or would they drop 
numb and useless by his sides? No, he decided after 
cautious experiment, they were not numbed. He 
could wriggle his fingers easily. 

Ichi walked first, then Martin, the grim Moto 
next, and the four sailors trailed behind, the last 
man carrying the second lantern. The gallery they 
traversed was a deep fissure in the black rock, of 
uneven Height and width. The walls narrowed until 
they could hardly squeeze through, and then widened 
until the lanterns’ rays failed to reveal them; at 
times Martin had to bend his head to pass beneath 
the low roof; again the roof was lost in the gloom. 

After a few steps, the sand underfoot gave place 
abruptly to a floor of hard, smooth lava rock. The 
gallery twisted, and the thin shaft of daylight from 
the entrance was lost. The way sloped gently up- 


286 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


ward. The lanterns waged but a feeble battle 
against the darkness; Martin felt he was being 
crushed by that heavy, intense gloom. Their steps 
echoed upon the glasslike, slippery rock underfoot. 

Soon Martin was sensible of a sharp rise in tem¬ 
perature. There was a strong draft in the passage¬ 
way, and a hot, smelly air blew against his face, and 
ruffled his hair. And now he was also conscious of 
the low moaning, a vast, spine-prickling moaning 
like the protest of a giant in pain, that came out of 
the darkness ahead. 

They wound this way and that. Martin had lost 
count of the steps, but he thought they must have 
gone sixty or seventy yards into the mountain. They 
passed an opening, but it was on the left hand. 

The whaleman’s directions were in Martin’s 
mind: “4 starboard—windy cave.” That must 
mean the fourth opening on the right hand. The 
cave of winds. Ichi said that was where the “deep 
place” was located. This horrible moaning must 
come from there. Ichi’s “deep place” must be 
Winters’s “bottomless hole”; the weird moaning 
must be the “Voice” that called the conscience- 
stricken Silva to his doom. 

In quick succession they passed three openings on 
the right hand. The hot wind blew more strongly; 
it was a moisture-laden breeze and Martin’s clothes 
were damp. Suddenly the passage angled obliquely. 
A few steps more and Ichi stopped. Over his head 
Martin saw the yawning mouth of the windy cave. 

It was a large opening, and the agitated air rushed 
out through it as though expelled by a giant fan. 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


287 


The air smelled and tasted evilly of gas and sulphur. 
The moaning came with the air; it seemed to come 
from below, from an immense distance. 

The group clustered at the mouth of the cave, 
and the two lanterns, held high, beat back the gloom 
for a few yards. Ichi shouted orders to his men, 
and his words were hardly audible above the deep, 
rhythmic moan that rose steadily from somewhere 
beneath their feet. Martin peered into the cavern; 
it was huge, he knew, but he could not even guess 
its dimensions. 

But it was not the length or breadth of the windy 
cave that fastened his regard. It was the depth. 
There, at his feet, plainly revealed by the lanterns’ 
light, was the “deep place,” the “bottomless hole.” 
It was a crack in the floor, its width and length lost 
in the gloom. Its near edge was but a couple of feet 
inside the cavern entrance. It was from this half 
revealed gaping slit that the wind came rushing; it 
was from somewhere in that hole, down, down, an 
immeasurable distance, that the eerie wailing came. 

The lanterns revealed white vapors swirling up¬ 
ward out of the hole. Everything was wet, water 
dripped from overhead, the black walls glistened 
with moisture, underfoot was wet and slippery as 
a waxed floor. Martin’s clothes were wet through. 

The four sailors huddled fearfully together, 
peering into the chasm. Ichi’s orders finally aroused 
them to action. The man with the tackle slipped it 
from his shoulder, and, with the aid of another, 
overhauled it. Martin had supposed the tackle was 
to be used in recovering the treasure, but now he 


288 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


saw it was intended for another purpose. This was 
not Ichi’s first visit to the cave of winds, and he 
came prepared. 

The opening in which they stood was near the 
left hand wall of the windy cave. A ledge, no more 
than six feet wide at the widest, ran between the 
wall and the edge of the pit. It sloped towards the 
gaping hole, and it was wet and shining like the 
walls. Martin could see it must be a most treach¬ 
erous footing, and he knew from the words of the 
code—“windy cave—2 port—aloft'’—that they 
must travel that dangerous path. 

It was here, on this ledge, that the blocks and 
tackle were to be used. The man who carried the 
second lantern, took the head block in his free hand, 
and stepped onto the ledge. He sidled along, hug¬ 
ging the wall, dragging the rope behind him. 

A few feet inside he crept past the first opening 
in the wall. A score of feet beyond, man and lan¬ 
tern melted into the wall, and Martin knew the 
second opening was reached. In a moment, man and 
lantern reappeared, and the fellow sang out. 

The sailor in the entrance, who held the foot 
block, fastened its hook in a little raised hump of 
rock; then, grasping the hauling line, pulled the 
tackle taut. The result was a serviceable lifeline, 
waist high, across the dangerous passage. 

The sailor took a turn about his body with the 
bight of the rope, and leaned back, holding a steady 
strain upon the tackle. Martin could see now why 
they had fetched a tackle, and not just a length of 
rope—there were no boldly jutting rocks about 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


289 


which a rope might be looped and knotted, but the 
hooks of the blocks fitted into the small inequalities 
the edges of the walls presented. So long as a strain 
was kept upon the hauling line, the hooks would bite, 
and the lifeline would be quite safe. 

Martin followed this work wfith a watchful eye. 
He was on the lookout for a chance to execute his 
plan, waiting for a careless moment on the part of 
those about him, which w r ould give him an oppor¬ 
tunity to free his hands, and strike his blow. 

For this was the time and the place! Here, by 
the edge of the abyss, must come his opportunity, 
his 'only opportunity. Somehow he must get pos¬ 
session of Ichi’s revolver, the only firearm in the 
crowd. If he obtained that, he might be able to hold 
this gang at bay, and prevent them returning to the 
ship until after the bosun’s surprise party. Or, 
failing that, he could surely finish some of them 
before their sharp knives finished him. He could 
dispose of Ichi. 

And this was the only plan he had. To fight, and 
to sacrifice himself, if need be. He had dismissed 
the thought of escape, of making a dash and losing 
himself in the black caves. He could do that, he 
knew. But his escape would not help his shipmates; 
it would not save Ruth. 

He knew that if he did not run for it, his death 
was almost certain. If he fought, when he fought, 
he would be killed. If he did not make his chance 
to fight, Ichi would murder him as soon as the 
ambergris was discovered—he was sure this pro¬ 
gram was agreed upon by Carew and Ichi. And if 


290 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


the ambergris were not discovered he would be given 
over to Moto for torture. Martin was afraid of 
Moto, and a little bit afraid of death—but his fear 
for himself was quite overshadowed by his other 
great fear, his fear for Ruth. His fate was nothing. 
But her fate! It was because of Ruth he disdained 
an attempt at flight; it was for Ruth he would strike 
his blow, and take death if it came. 

Hence Martin stood meekly by while the sailors 
rigged the line, and watched for his chance. Moto’s 
eyes remained fixed upon him unwaveringly; Ichi was 
surrounded by his men. The moment was not yet. 

Martin could not help according the little yellow 
men a certain admiration. They were frightened, 
plainly terrified, by this gloomy cave, and especially 
by the gruesome sounds that came from the “deep 
place.” But their native courage, or, perhaps, the 
iron discipline to which they were accustomed, 
caused them to fight down their superstitious fears. 
Even Ichi, himself, was visibly unnerved by his sur¬ 
roundings. “Scientificness” and “Fate” evidently 
could not stop his ears, nor quite eradicate inherited 
fears. But he held his disquiet firmly under control, 
and his bearing was sure as he shouted his orders— 
only a side glance into the hole, and a momentary 
shudder, betrayed his nervousness. 

Ichi placed his lantern on the ground, beside the 
man who was holding the line, and beckoned to Mar¬ 
tin. Then he stepped out upon the ledge, one 
steadying hand upon the tackle. 

For the fraction of a second, Martin hesitated 
to follow. “What if they shove me over?” he 



THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


291 


thought. His hands were useless, doubled behind 
him; if Moto were to give him the slightest shove, 
over the edge into that dreadful hole he would go, 
for he would have no saving grip upon the lifeline. 
But the instant’s reflection reassured him. They 
would not try to get rid of him until the treasure’s 
hiding place were discovered; and by that time he 
would have made his opportunity to strike. 

He followed Ichi. Although the comforting 
touch of the lifeline was not for him, his nerves 
were steady, and he did not falter on the glassy, 
inclined way. Ichi minced his steps, compelling 
Martin to shorten his stride. Martin saw that Ichi 
was trembling, and gazing fearfully into the abyss. 
He had an impulse to throw himself upon Ichi, and 
roll with him over the edge. But then, he thought, 
this blow would not help his shipmates; indeed, it 
would harm them, for the rest would immediately 
scurry back to the ship. No, he must try to get the 
revolver into his hand. 

Ichi reached the lantern, and stepped into the cleft 
in the wall. Martin followed, and found himself 
again on a level floor, and in the entrance to another 
cave. 

This entrance w r as not large. There was standing 
room there for but four of them, the sailor who had 
strung the line, and who was guarding the head block, 
Ichi, Moto, and himself. The other two sailors 
were compelled to stay on the ledge, grasping the 
tackle. The remaining man in the party held to his 
position at the other end of the tackle, the rope 
wrapped about his body. 


292 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“Ah—it is here we must commence our looking,” 
exclaimed Ichi. “It is here we must test the state¬ 
ments of the young female and your honorable self, 
Mr. Blake. You are—ah—of a sureness as to 
direction? My worthy Moto is of a readiness.” 

Martin could feel the worthy Moto’s fingers rest¬ 
ing lightly upon his shoulder. But he also felt 
against his leg, the hard outline of the revolver in 
Ichi’s coat pocket—so closely were they crowded 
together in the cave entrance. 

“The code says ‘aloft,’ ” answered Martin. “Look 
for a hole in the roof leading up into a dry cave.” 

Ichi chattered an order, and the sailor picked up 
the lantern and held it over his head. Very cau¬ 
tiously, so Moto would not feel and interpret the 
movement, Martin began to squeeze his hand free 
from the handcuff. 

The lantern revealed the overhead rock for quite 
an area. It revealed the very spot they sought. 
Just to the left of the entrance and on level with 
Martin’s chin a shelf of rock jutted out a couple of 
feet from the wall. Above this shelf was an open¬ 
ing, a crack in the ceiling wide enough to admit a 
man’s body. 

Ichi pointed and exclaimed excitedly. The lantern 
light illumined his upturned face and Martin saw it 
contorted with triumphant greed. The others also 
exclaimed their joy. Half glancing over his 
shoulder, Martin saw that Moto’s attention was 
fixed on the ceiling. It was the careless moment 
Martin awaited, his moment—with a convulsive jerk 
he freed his hands. 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


293 


But before he could straighten his arms, Ichi 
turned and grinned up into his face. 

“Ah—so, it was with truthfulness you spoke. But 
we must prove, yes?” He gave an order to the 
sailor, and the latter, replacing the lantern on the 
floor, boosted himself to the ledge and disappeared 
through the hole. Martin backed against the wall 
to conceal the fact that his hands were free, that 
one-half of his handcuffs were empty. He waited 
stolidly—Ichi and Moto were both watching his 
face, gloating upon him. 

In a moment the expected hail came from over¬ 
head. The sailor returned from his exploration, 
stuck his head through the opening, and shouted a 
sentence to Ichi, a triumphant, exultant shout. 
Martin’s knees bent slightly and his body tensed for 
the leap. And Ichi, leering up at him, said, “And 
now—we have no needfulness of Mr. Blake-” 

So far he got. And then the smirk disappeared 
from his sagging mouth, the cruelty and cupidity 
left his eyes, and terror crept in. 

It was not Martin that checked him. It was 
the Voice of the Pit. In the passing of a second, 
the moan from the chasm had become an appalling 
roar. A very gale of hot air hit their backs as it 
gushed up from below. The terrifying roaring grew 
in volume. It seemed to be a tangible thing ap¬ 
proaching them. Moto and Ichi, their prisoner for¬ 
gotten, were crouching, staring wide-eyed into 
the pit. 

Martin reached out and gathered Ichi into his 


arms. 




294 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


He had mentally rehearsed his movements. He 
hugged the Jap with his left arm, from which wrist 
the irons dangled, while his right hand dove for 
Ichi’s coat pocket. His fingers closed about the 
pistol butt, and he jerked the weapon out. 

Ichi struggled furiously, awake to danger at 
the first touch. He could not break Martin’s bear¬ 
like hug. He screamed at the fascinated Moto; 
Martin could see hfs lips framing cries, but not a 
syllable sounded above the huge roaring that filled 
the caverns. Then Ichi bent his head and sunk his 
teeth into Martin’s arm. 

The pain of the bite caused Martin to jerk his 
arm violently upward. He wrenched it free from 
the other’s teeth; involuntarily, he pressed the trig¬ 
ger, and the weapon discharged. But he did not 
lose his grasp on the gun; he clubbed it, and brought 
it down with all his might on Ichi’s head. 

Ichi collapsed. He sagged in Martin’s encircling 
arm as limply and as lifelessly as a sack of wheat. 
The shot had aroused Moto; the torturer’s terrible 
fingers were reaching for Martin’s throat. The 
latter dropped Ichi, and sprang backward; and even 
as he did so, he hurled the weapon at Moto’s face. 

It was a true shot. The heavy butt caught the Jap 
squarely on the forehead, and sent him reeling and 
stumbling, hurled him off the level underfooting at 
the cave entrance, and caused him to slip and over¬ 
balance upon the sloping edge outside. He fell. 
His momentum carried him on, and he slid down 
the slope toward the chasm, clutching futilely at the 
wet, glassy surface. At the edge he appeared to 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


295 


hang motionless for an instant, his face lifted to 
Martin, his mouth wide open, his contorted fea¬ 
tures half obscured by the wreathing vapors. Then 
he vanished. 

Martin’s knees sagged. He was horrified. So 
suddenly had the tragedy happened, he was still in 
the posture of throwing the revolver—and now 
revolver and victim were both gone, and Ichi—Ichi 
was this lump at his feet. Unconsciously, he 
strained his ears for Moto’s death cry. But the 
thunder that ascended from the depths drowned all 
other sounds. This roar was swelling, swelling; 
it seemed to rock the world. 

He felt sick. He squatted there in the entrance, 
beside Ichi’s body, his wide eyes fixed upon the 
dancing rim of the chasm. In his mind’s eye he could 
see Moto falling, falling down, down, down, past 
black, slippery walls, down into the heart of that 
tremendous sound. But he was too stunned by the 
awful noise to feel either glad or sorry. Only hor¬ 
ror, and a dumb wonder. 

He thought, “This is death.” Then, strangely, 
his mind inquired, “Why the sound? What is it?” 
Once the query was put to himself, his mind worked 
upon it quite independent of his will. It was a saving 
quest, something to keep him sane, this groping for 
an explanation. He watched the vapors. The 
windy cave seemed less dark, and the white clouds 
poured upward and swirled about like dancing 
ghosts. The hot, wet air beat upon him. He was 
half choked, and sopping wet. And the noise grew 


296 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


and grew. It was like a thousand huge boilers all 
blowing off at once. 

Steam! The thought of boilers was the clue. He 
had it; he was sure he was right. It was the roar of 
escaping steam far, far down in that fearful hole. 
The vapors, the hot, wet wind—dead steam, half 
condensed during its long rush upward. Down there 
in the bowels of the mountain the sea seepage was 
being turned to steam. The live heart of this old 
volcano was nothing else than a tremendous boiler, 
and this chasm was the boiler’s safety valve. But, 
God—how far down must be the fires! Miles, per¬ 
haps. He wondered if Moto had yet reached 
bottom. 

Gradually, he became conscious that the roar was 
diminishing, that the vapors no longer gushed forth 
in such volume. He had lost track of time; he felt he 
had always been sitting here by the edge of the pit; 
he had forgotten all about the other Japs, all about 
the bosun and Ruth. The noise had even driven 
Ruth from his conscious mind. But now, with the 
lessening of the pressure against his ear drums, and 
the end of the great humming inside his head, his 
apathy was gone. He peered about him. 

He looked out of the entrance, along the ledge. 
The two sailors still clung to the lifeline; there was 
only air between them and the chasm, and they 
clutched the ropes tightly and stared down into the 
hole. Martin could not see their faces, but their 
postures were eloquent of their terror. Beyond, by 
the light of the lantern at his feet, the remaining Jap 
was plainly revealed. His face was visible—and 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


297 


terror-stricken. But he still had the hauling line 
about him, and was leaning backwards keeping the 
saving strain upon the lifeline. 

The great steam roar died away to the rhythmic, 
whistling wail that had preceded it. But another 
great noise was commencing. It was not the shat¬ 
tering scream of steam, but a mighty rumble that 
came from an immense distance. Coincidentally, the 
mountain itself came alive and shook, not violently, 
but gently, shudderingly, as if Atlas, far beneath, 
were hunching his burdened shoulders. 

A dim light appeared, hovering over the great 
crack in the cave floor. It seemed a reflection of 
some distant glare, in color a pale green. Slowly it 
mounted and spread, diffusing a soft, eerie radiance, 
and revealing to Martin’s fascinated gaze the truly 
vast dimensions of the cave of winds. 

Something forced Martin’s gaze to the other 
entrance. And, as his eyes rested upon the figure of 
the rope-holding Jap, Martin’s own body stiffened 
convulsively with a shock of surprise. His heart 
skipped a beat, and then began to furiously race, 
while cold chills crawled up and down his spine. 

For a second figure had suddenly materialized 
beside the figure of a Jap. Another figure—a 
gnome, a wraith! The unholy light from the pit 
painted it an unearthly greenish hue, and accentuated 
the haggardness of face, and the gleaming eyes, the 
humped body, its crookedness magnified by the 
crouched attitude. It looked like some demon come 
floating up on the wicked light from the “deep place.” 
It crouched to leap, to strike, and a bared knife 


298 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


gleamed in an upraised hand; it glared balefully, 
fixedly, at the living anchor of the lifeline. 

The yellow sailor seemed to feel that fearsome 
presence at his side. He did not turn his head, but 
he slowly rolled his eyes and regarded the menacing 
apparition. An expression of complete horror and 
despair swept into his face. 

For an instant he remained motionless. Then his 
surrender to his terror was complete. He leaped as 
though released by a spring, cast the rope from him, 
covered his face with his hands, and backed away 
from the figure. He backed into the big cave, 
toward the pit. 

In another second they were gone—all three of 
them. Gone before Martin could utter his cry of 
warning—or recognition. Gone before the stranger 
could move. 

For, when the sailor cast away the rope, the strain 
on the tackle was released, and the freed hauling 
line whipped snakelike through the air as it rushed 
through the sheaves. The two men on the ledge fell 
backward, as their lifeline collapsed; the blocks, with 
no weight to hold them taut dropped from the rock; 
and the two poor wretches sliding down the incline 
towards the pit dragged the tackle after them. The 
tail block, swishing over the smooth surface, twined 
about the feet of the backward-stumbling first man, 
and jerked him from his feet. With the swiftly 
waning light revealing a writhing jumble of outflung 
arms and legs, ropes and blocks, the three men 
slipped over the chasm edge. 

The quake rumble had ceased. Above the sim- 


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS 


299 


mering moan of the steam, Martin heard the death 
wail of the trio, a wild, hideous shriek that grew 
fainter and fainter, farther and farther away, and 
finally merged completely with the other sound. 

The greenish glow subsided into the depths from 
which it had sprung. The black gloom swept down 
over the caves, covering all save the narrow circles 
about the lanterns. And Martin squatted, sick and 
shaken, by one lantern, and stared beyond the ledge 
at the other lantern. By it stood Little Billy. 


CHAPTER XX 


TREASURE CAVE 
* 

cc T S it little Billy?” thought Martin. “No, it can’t 
be. Little Billy is on board, planning the 
uprising, directing Yip and Bosun.” The 
guess he had made, born of hope and Ruth’s hurried 
whisper, that Little Billy was at large on the ship, 
combated the evidence of his sight. He could not 
believe it was Little Billy. 

But then the voice came across from the other 
entrance. It was unmistakably Billy’s voice. 

“Martin, Martin! Are you all right?” 

Martin found his own voice then. He shouted 
loudly, “Billy, Billy!” Lie staggered to his feet, 
intent on joining the other. But Little Billy was 
already on the ledge, sidling towards him. 

An instant later he was pawing the hunchback, 
and gabbling gladly, “Billy, Billy!” It really was 
Little Billy, a real flesh and blood Billy. The mere 
feel of him was medicine to Martin’s sick soul; it 
shoved back the horror of the last few minutes. He 
was almost hysterical, so intense was his relief and 
joy at having Little Billy by his side. 

But the hunchback’s first words effectually checked 
this mood. “Ruth!” he said. “My God, Martin— 
the ship—Ruth—what has happened!” 

It was like a cold blast—these words. They 

300 


TREASURE CAVE 


301 


shocked Martin sober, blew the stupor from his 
mind. “Ruth—the ship!” 

“Is she—is she—” stuttered Little Billy. 

“All right. So far. Carew has the ship. But 
there is a plan—” Martin stopped. The plan! 
Good Lord, what now of the plan? He had taken 
it for granted that Little Billy was on the ship, 
directing a rescue. Why, Yip had passed him a note 
from Little Billy- 

That note! Martin clapped his hand to his hip 
pocket. 

“What is it?” cried Little Billy. “Talk to me 
—tell me, Martin, about the ship—Ruth!” 

Martin bent over the lantern, and unfolded the 
paper he had drawn from his pocket. It was a mere 
scrap of paper, hurriedly and irregularly torn from 
a larger sheet; on it, in Ruth’s hand, was penciled 
a few words. 

“Grandfather has regained his sight—courage, 
dear—Yip has a plan. The noon meal.” 

Their eyes met above the papers, Martin’s 
kindling with understanding, Little Billy’s be¬ 
wildered. 

“By George, she wrote it!” exclaimed Martin. “I 
know—she slipped it to Yip in the cabin, and he 
slipped it to me. And all the time I thought I had 
a note you had written. She wrote it—Ruth!” 

All of a sudden Martin realized that the hunch¬ 
back’s presence by his side was a mystery. For the 
first time his eyes began to critically inspect his com¬ 
panion. Revealed in the lantern light, Little Billy 
was a truly pitiful figure, coatless, shoeless, clad 



302 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


only in sea-soiled trousers and singlet. The twisted, 
meager frame slumped dejectedly, the face was hag¬ 
gard with fatigue and worry, the eyes deep-sunken, 
distrait. 

“What happened, Billy? You—how did you get 
ashore?” began Martin. 

“Swam,” was the succinct reply. “Never mind 
me. Just now, you talk. What are conditions 
aboard? How many of us are left? The note— 
the plan—to retake the ship?” 

“Yes, I think so. The crew—I’ll explain, Billy. 
But this place—” The distant roar was audible 
again, and, despite himself, Martin fell to trembling. 
“Let us get out of here,” he urged Little Billy. 
“Back to the beach—where we can see the ship.” 

“We can’t show ourselves on the beach,” said the 
other. “Winters’ cave—did you discover it?” 

Martin nodded. The dry cave overhead—that 
was the place. He did not relish recrossing the ledge 
by the chasm edge at that moment; he did not think 
he could do it without falling in. And Winters’ 
cave, if he recalled aright the description, had an 
outlook over the bay. 

He motioned Little Billy to hold the lantern, while 
he bent over to inspect Ichi. A dim idea was at work 
in Martin’s mind; not yet clear cut, not yet a 
reasoned plan. It concerned Ichi. If only the little 
wretch were not dead, or badly injured, as he feared. 
The man had lain there so motionless; he seemed 
such an inanimate lump as Martin rolled him over 
on his back. 

But the fear was groundless. There was blood 


TREASURE CAVE 


303 


on Ichi’s face from a torn scalp, and a big lump 
on the side of his head. The hunchback felt the 
lump, and cried, “Knocked out!” Immediately he 
added, “He’s coming around—or playing ’possum. 
His eyes! He isn’t shot. I thought you shot him; 
I saw the flash. But he’s just knocked out—and 
waking up. See his eyes! Frisk him. Not even a 
knife.” 

Ichi’s lids were fluttering. Presently they drew 
back slowly, and the man stared up at them. At first 
it was a vague, wavering, uncomprehending stare. 
But after a moment, intelligence—and fear—crept 
into the beady black eyes, and the gaze fastened upon 
the two grim, white faces above. Ichi tried to raise 
his head, his body. But Martin’s hand was at his 
throat, and his knee upon his chest. 

“He’s alive!” exclaimed Martin, triumphantly. 
“Don't you see, Billy—we can bargain-” 

“Use him, or kill him,” cried the cripple, savagely, 
and he cursed at the prostrate man’s face. “Drag 
him to his feet, Martin. Let’s be going. The way 
to Winters’ cave—up here?” 

With his clutch on Ichi’s collar, Martin dragged 
him to his feet and propped him against the wall. 
Ichi was groggy, but he kept his feet; and he was 
plainly conscious, though he did not open his mouth. 
The handcuffs which had chafed Martin’s wrists for 
so many hours were still dangling from his left arm. 
He slipped them off, and, with no gentle hand, forced 
his prisoner’s wrists together behind him and ironed 
them tightly. Tit for tat, thought Martin; and he 



304 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


made certain that Ichi would not wriggle his wrists 
through the steel clasps. 

“Look here!” called Little Billy. “I had a hunch 
that shot hit somebody. Look—up here !” 

He held the lantern over his head, and its rays 
lighted the shelf beneath the hole in the ceiling. 
On it was sprawled the body of a man. It was a 
gruesome sight; the form seemed oddly shrunken 
and twisted, one leg hung over the edge of the rock, 
the face was towards them, eyes and mouth wide 
open. Unmistakably dead. 

“Hole in the forehead,” said Little Billy. 

The nausea had Martin’s stomach again. But he 
fought it back. His mind searched for and imme¬ 
diately found the answer. 

“When Ichi bit my arm, and I jerked it up and 
the gun went off. Yes, that’s it. And that—I’d for¬ 
gotten about that fellow, Ichi sent him aloft to 
explore. He must have been crawling back when 
I—when he was struck.” 

“Good riddance,” said Little Billy. 

“Watch this bird a moment,” commanded Martin. 

He stepped forward, and, conquering his re¬ 
pugnance, put his arms about the corpse and lifted 
it to the floor. Then, on second thought, he knelt 
and removed the leather belt and sheath knife from 
about the man’s waist. He had remembered he was 
weaponless. 

It was no easy task to boost the prisoner to the 
shelf, and thence through the crack in the ceiling. 
Ichi was none too willing to proceed, though he made 
no audible protest. But with Little Billy —who 


TREASURE CAVE 


305 


went first—pulling from above, and Martin prod¬ 
ding and thumping from below, the three finally 
negotiated the unhandy entrance. 

They found themselves in a tunnel, much like the 
one below that connected with the Elephant Head. 
But this shaft, when they got a little ways into it, 
was dry, and the air was sweet. A cool, sweet wind 
touched their faces, so they knew they were ap¬ 
proaching blessed daylight. 

Little Billy went first, with the lantern. Martin 
brought up the rear, and, with his hand on Ichi’s 
collar, directed the latter’s somewhat faltering steps. 
Their way climbed sharply, then leveled; the tunnel 
was as tortuous as the one below. They turned a 
corner and discerned a bar of daylight cutting 
athwart the darkness of the passage. Another turn, 
and they were on the threshold of a wide and lofty 
cavern, a great room that was dimly lighted by a 
large, natural window in the farther wall. 

“Watch him!” Martin cried to Little Billy; and, 
deserting his prisoner, he rushed forward to the 
opening. 

He looked out over the beach and the sun- 
sparkled waters of the little bay. This cave was a 
good forty feet above the beach. He looked down 
on the vessel, which was but a few hundred yards 
distant; the flooding tide had swung her stern to the 
shore, and her decks were plainly visible. 

At his first glance, Martin suffered a sharp stab 
of disappointment. For nothing was changed. 
There, leaning over the taffrail, staring shoreward, 
was the Japanese mate, Asoki, in the exact attitude 


306 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


in which Martin had last seen him, when he entered 
the caves in Ichi’s wake. The man seemed not to 
have budged since then. And forward, the guards 
were still at the hatches. He saw Yip step out of the 
gallery, empty a pot overside, and stand there by the 
rail, gazing aft. 

Asoki suddenly came to life, walked over to the 
skylight and glanced below, and then struck six bells 
on the bell that hung by the wheel. 

Martin’s feeling of disappointment was changed 
to one of astonishment. Six bells! It was unbeliev¬ 
able. Only thirty moments since he followed Ichi 
through the Elephant Head! A half hour! 

The swift tragedies by the chasm brink, the earth’s 
convulsions, and the darkness, above all the dark¬ 
ness, all combined to lend error to his time reckon¬ 
ing. He had felt he was immersed in the black 
bowels of the mountain for hours. But now he 
looked into daylight, and reasoned about it, he real¬ 
ized how short was the time spent in the cave of 
winds. It was but a half hour since they landed. 
Thirty moments! Why, the bosun and the boys 
must still be quiet in the hold, and Yip’s plot was 
still a-borning. And now, he was not impotent; he 
could help, perhaps. With Ichi. 

He turned to call Little Billy and the prisoner 
forward. He discovered the hunchback by his side, 
peering out at the ship. But Ichi was gone. 

“My God, where is he?” exclaimed Martin. 

“Eh? Damn! I forgot him!” was Billy’s an¬ 
swer. He glanced swiftly around. “There he 
goes!” 


TREASURE CAVE 


307 


Martin saw him the same instant—the squat 
figure streaking for the dim recesses at the farther 
end of the cavern. He sprinted after the vanishing 
form. Before he could overhaul it, Ichi rounded 
a spur of rock; there was a crash, and a yelp of ter¬ 
ror and pain. Martin, rounding the corner, came 
into collision with a round rolling object, and 
sprawled headlong over it. 

Fie landed on a softer couch than the rock, on 
Ichi, himself; and the Jap’s remaining wind was ex¬ 
pelled from his body with a forcible “woof!” Some¬ 
thing made of wood fell on Martin’s back, and 
bounced off; then a barrel rolled against him and 
stopped. He did not feel either blow; he was too 
intent on making sure of the safety of the captive. 
He flopped the limp and groaning Ichi over on his 
back, and sat on him. 

Just then Little Billy appeared around the jut¬ 
ting rock with the lantern. 

“Got him safe?” he exclaimed. “Oh, Martin, I 
was so anxious—the ship—took my eyes off him 
just a second, and—” He stopped his excuses sud¬ 
denly, and held up the lantern, gazing about. 

“Good heavens, do you know what this is?” he 
cried. 

Martin knew. He had guessed it even before 
Billy spoke, even before the lantern brought clear 
sight. The thing he had tumbled over: the other 
things that bumped him; the reek of musk in the 
air. He knew it was the treasure. 

None the less, he was astonished when he fol¬ 
lowed Little Billy’s gesture with his gaze. They 


308 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


were in a corner of the dry cave, and the jutting 
rock which had spelled grief for Ichi formed a 
pocket or alcove. This little chamber, in which they 
now were, was nearly filled with kegs. They were 
stowed neatly, tier on tier, from floor to sloping 
roof. They were about the size of pickle kegs, and 
there were dozens of them. Ichi had evidently 
plumped headlong into the pile and sent several 
kegs (and himself) rolling, one of which had tripped 
Martin. 

Martin’s knowledge of ambergris was still very 
vague. He would not have been surprised at the 
sight of a couple of barrels and an iron-bound chest 
or two. But a regiment of kegs! Dozens of kegs! 
If they all contained ambergris, he thought, there 
must be tons of the smelly stuff. 

“See it, Martin?” cried the volatile hunchback, 
all else forgotten in the excitement of the instant. 
“By Jove, the entire fifteen hundred pounds, or I’ll 
eat this lantern! Phew —it hasn’t lost any of its 
virtue.” 

“But all those kegs can’t be filled with it,” said 
Martin. “Fifteen hundred pounds—why, there 
must be fifty kegs there.” 

“Fifty-five,” answered Little Billy, “counting the 
ones you knocked over. Not as much as it looks. 
There is hardly any weight to ambergris; it takes 
quite a lump to weigh even an ounce. Specific gravity 
is—is—oh, I forget.” 

“It is .09,” came a muffled voice from underneath 
Martin. 


TRExVSURE CAVE 309 

Martin started, and lifted his weight from the 
prostrate form. 

“That is of betterness,” said Ichi, more clearly. 
“May I see, please?” 

“The rat smells cheese,” observed Little Billy. 

It seemed so. Ichi struggled into a sitting posture, 
and his little black eyes were bright and greedy as 
he feasted them upon the kegs. He even sucked in 
the burdened air greedily. 

“Let’s get back where we can see the ship,” said 
Martin. He jerked the Jap to his feet, and pro¬ 
pelled him before. “That cursed stuff sickens me,” 
he told Little Billy, as they rapidly retraced their 
w r ay. “Think of the ruin—the murder—all the 
trouble it has caused.” 

“Aye, Sails,” responded Little Billy. “Poor Sails. 
And who else? For God’s sake, who else, Martin? 
And the ship—Ruth—everything! I know nothing.” 

“Lend a hand while I truss him up, so he won’t 
lead us another chase,” said Martin. 

They had regained the window, and a glance had 
assured Martin the ship had remained peaceful 
during their brief absence. And now he took the 
strap belt he had salvaged from the dead sailor 
and with it tightly bound Ichi’s ankles. It rendered 
him quite helpless. Martin deposited him with 
his back to the wall, a few feet from the window. 

“Sit there awhile and think over your sins,” he 
told him, when Ichi tried to speak. “When I’m 
ready, I’ll talk with you.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


DECOY 

<c ~g"F we could only get on board to help,” com¬ 
plained Little Billy. “If it were only dark. 
That whaleboat down there.” 

“But we can’t,” was Martin’s prompt rejoinder. 
“You said yourself we dare not venture on the beach. 
They would only knock us over with their rifles— 
and besides, Carew would learn that something had 
happened to his landing party.” 

They were sitting on either side of the opening, 
watchfully regarding the ship. Martin, in response 
to the hunchback’s importuning, had just briefly 
related the details of the previous night’s misfortune, 
and he now summarized the situation on board as 
he knew or guessed it. 

“The foc’sle crowd is locked in the hold—you see 
the guards, one at the fore hatch, and two amid¬ 
ships,” said Martin. “The bosun has undoubtedly 
broken through from the lazaret and joined the 
boys by this time. Captain Dabney is laid up in his 
room, suffering from the blow Carew gave him, and 
Ruth is nursing him. But her note said he has re¬ 
gained his sight—what does that mean, Billy?” 

“I don’t know,” said Little Billy. “It was a shock 
that blinded him; perhaps another shock has cured 

310 


DECOY 


311 


him. But the Chink’s plan, Martin! What is it? 
‘The noon meal.’ What does that mean?” 

Martin shook his head. “I wish I knew. I 
shouldn’t think eight bells would be a good time for 
the boys in the hold to attempt to break out. Now, 
would be a good time. There are only three of the 
gang on guard—or four, if you count the mate, there 
on the poop. Another one is in the cabin with 
Carew. The rest must be asleep in the foc’sle. 
There are only nine of them left, Billy. We have 
accounted for six, you and I—and that hole. There 
are ten of our fellows in the hold. If only they were 
armed! I am afraid to try my scheme just yet; it 
might upset their plans, it might spoil everything. 
Her note is explicit, ‘The noon meal.’ ” 

“Your plan? We can help?” exclaimed Little 
Billy. 

Martin inclined his head towards the bound form 
of their captive, lying beyond earshot. “Decoy,” he 
said. 

Understanding lighted the hunchback’s face. “I 
see. Draw them off—some of them. Just before 
eight bells. Oh, I am dopey, not to have thought 
of that. But I can’t think straight. Nerves snap¬ 
ping. I’ve worried a lot since last night. You know 
how it is—I didn’t know what had happened, and 
Ruth-” 

Yes, Martin knew how it was. He smiled his 
understanding and sympathy, and leaned over and 
patted Billy’s shoulder. Yes, he knew. His own 
nerves were snapping, when he thought of Ruth. 
He knew that his, and Wild Bob’s, were not the only 



312 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


hearts enslaved by the maid of the Cohasset. And 
he, the accepted lover, could regard without disquiet 
the light that shone in Billy’s eyes whenever the 
latter spoke of Ruth. 

“I know how it is between you two,” continued 
Little Billy. “And you—I think you know how it is 
■with me. I—why, I’d die for her gladly. Oh, Mar¬ 
tin, in my mind I think I died a thousand times last 
night.” 

“What happened to you last night?” inquired 
Martin. “How did you escape them, and get 
ashore?” 

“I suppose they murdered Rimoa and Oomak 
while Sails was in the cabin, calling you. Poor 
Sails—so it was his concern for me that caused 
him to awaken you. He thought feydom had me.” 

“But he was wrong,” said Martin, quickly. 

“I don’t know; I have had a feeling—oh, well, 
no matter,” rejoined Little Billy. “I guess they 
would have finished me, as well as the others, had 
I been on board.” 

“Had you been on board?” echoed Martin. 

“I was already on my way to the beach when 
they boarded. Passed them on the way. It was 
just an accident, a simple mishap,” explained the 
other. “It happened just after I roused MacLean 
from his snooze in the galley. You recall how dark 
it was last night. I felt my way aft, and paused 
by the capstan, where you found my tobacco pouch. 
I placed it there preparatory to filling my pipe. 
Mv pipe wasn’t in my pocket, and I remembered that 
it was lying on the thwart of the dingey, where I left 


DECOY 


313 


when I came on board after sounding to anchor 
in the afternoon. 

“Well, you may remember w r hat state I was in. 
The booze craving made me jumpy and unreason¬ 
able. I decided I must have that pipe, no other pipe 
would do. So I crossed to the side and felt around 
until I grasped the boat's painter; and then I over¬ 
hauled until the dingey was beneath me. I had 
climbed up on the rail, and was perched there on my 
knees, and as I twisted around to make the painter 
fast, I over-balanced and fell. 

“I guess I struck the boat’s gunwale a glancing 
blow with my head. Anyway, I bounced off into 
the water. When I came to the surface I was at 
first too stunned to cry out. I needed all my breath, 
anyway, to keep afloat. The tide was flooding like 
a millrace, and sweeping me with it. I couldn’t see 
the ship; I was isolated in the black fog. 

“The water was icy cold and my clothes dragged 
me under. You remember how chilly it was last 
night; I'had on sea boots and reefer coat. I strug¬ 
gled desperately, under water half the time, and 
managed to slip off the boots; then I wriggled out 
of my coat and guernsey. By this time I knew I 
was near the beach, and I was almost spent. 

“Then, a boat passed me. I could not see it— 
but I heard oars, or fancied I did. I tried to call 
out. But I was too far gone; every time I opened 
my mouth it filled with water, and I only spluttered. 
Anyway, I wasn’t sure it was oars; it was more 
likely surf on a rock, I thought. A little later, I felt 


314 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

the ground under my feet, and staggered up on the 
beach. 

“I was lying on the sand, waiting for strength that 
would enable me to hail the ship, when they rushed 
you. I heard a shriek coming out of the darkness. 
It must have been MacLean. Then shouts, and a 
shot, and Ruth’s scream, and—silence. Oh, I knew 
then what had happened, and that I had really 
passed a boat, Carew’s boat! 

“I don’t like to think about the time that followed. 
I think I was crazy for a time; I know I ranged up 
and down the beach like a madman. But I retained 
enough sense to know I couldn’t swim against the 
tide. It was a miracle I kept afloat with the tide 
in that Arctic water, and me a lubberly swimmer. 
Then, after a long while-—how long a time I don’t 
know; each moment seemed an age—I stumbled 
upon MacLean’s body. Poor Sails, he could not 
foretell his own finish! 

“He—he couldn’t have been quite dead w T hen 
they threw him over, or he wouldn’t have made the 
beach so quickly. But he was quite dead then. I 
took his knife from his hip—this is it I have here— 
because I felt I might have a chance to use it. God, 
how I longed for a chance to use it! Finding Mac- 
Lean sort of steadied me; it shocked me sane, so to 
speak. The fog began to thin out, and I slipped 
into a cave. 

“Pretty soon the fog lifted altogether, and it was 
a bright calm morning. Through the cave mouth, 
I could see the Japs parading the deck. But I didn’t 
see them making preparations to get the ship under 


DECOY 


315 


way, so I reasoned the ambergris was still ashore, 
and that they would come for it. So I just waited. 

“You see, I thought it was all ended for the 
Happy Family. I knew Carew, and these yellow 
devils; I was sure you had all been killed, and that 
Ruth—oh, well, I was going to meet them when 
they came ashore, and do a little work with Sails’ 
knife before they finished me. 

“At last their whaleboat started for the beach. 
I was ready to show myself, when I noticed you in 
the party—you, alive. I thought if you were alive, 
some of the others might also be alive, and there 
might be something to hope for. So I lurked in the 
cave, and watched.” 

“I saw you!” interjected Martin. “Lord, what a 
start the glimpse of your face gave me! I knew you 
were alive, but I was convinced you were on board. 
I thought I was seeing ghosts.” 

“You went in through the Elephant Head, and I 
went after you,” continued Little Billy. “The cave 
I was in (the one those fellows lived in, by the reek 
of the place) communicated with the passage you 
traveled, so I could fall in behind without going 
out on the beach. I trailed your party to the big 
cave, stopped just back of the light, and watched 
you cross the ledge. Then came that awful blast 
(did you notice it was steam, Martin?) and I saw 
you struggling with one of them, and you knocked 
another one over the edge, and I thought it was time 
for me to lend a hand. But the sight of me was 
too much for that fellow who held the line. 

“Well, they are gone, poor devils. I suppose I 


316 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


should feel a bit sorry for them. But I don’t. I 
know just what brutes they were. What surprises 
me, is that they didn't make a thorough job of it 
and slaughter all hands, instead of only three. 
What do they want of prisoners? Except—Ruth?” 

“I am sure Carew prevented that," said Martin. 
He rehearsed the scene in the cabin. “Carew is 
wild about Ruth, and she has him bluffed, actually 
bluffed. If it had been left to Ichi, there, I am sure 
we all would have been killed, and the directions for 
finding the treasure tortured out of Ruth. But 
Carew protected her—and us. He hopes to gain her 
favor, to compel her to love him, or—at least accept 
him. He even hinted he would place all the rest of 
us safely ashore. I think he was lying.” 

“Depend on it, he was,” asserted Little Billy. 
“Place you safely ashore on this island, I suppose. 
And conduct you to the edge of that hole, and per¬ 
sonally chuck you in. That’s Carew’s style! My 
God, that is an awful hole, Martin! It got on my 
nerves. Listen, she’s blowing again!” 

They regarded each other silently, listening to 
the roaring down there in the depths. It grew and 
grew, became for a moment a harsh menacing, over¬ 
whelming screech, and then slowly subsided to the 
murmurous moaning that never ceased. 

“It happens continuously,” commented Little 
Billy. “Every hour or so, since I've been ashore. 
Blow the roof off some day. Here comes the rest 
of it.” 

“The rest of it” was the rumble and the little 
quake. It brought vividly before Martin’s eyes the 


DECOY 


317 


horrid picture of the ghostly lighted chasm, and the 
yellow men falling to their death. It brought dis¬ 
quietude to another mind, also. Ichi emitted a wail 
of pure terror. 

“This place has got him,” said Little Billy. “By 
Jove, it has nearly got me, too. One could swear 
those were human voices in torment, down there. 
Eh y Ichi,” he added in louder tones, “don’t you hear 
your shipmates calling to you to join them? Down 
yonder in the hole?” 

Ichi chattered in his native tongue. He may have 
been answering Little Billy; it sounded as though 
he were cursing him. Whatever it was, it was 
frightened and forceless talk; and when presently 
Ichi lapsed into English, it was the fear-stricken 
coolie who entreated, and not the swagger Japanese 
gentleman who commanded. 

“Oh, Mr. Blake, you are gentleman. Mr. Billy 
is not speak truthfulness, yis? Mr. Blake, please, 
you will not give me to the ‘Deep Place.’ Not to the 
‘Evil Ones.’ Mr. Blake, I help you, I be of much 
usefulness. You promise—Mr. Billy spoke with 
jokefulness. Yis, prease?” 

“He’s forgetting his English. What do you know 
about that?” said Little Billy. 

“He thinks you meant what you said about his 
shipmates calling,” replied Martin, in a low voice. 
“He thinks you meant that you were going to drop 
him into the hole, after his gang. Threaten him 
some more. The more frightened he is, the more 
eagerly he’ll do what we wish. There goes seven 


318 FIRE MOUNTAIN 

bells on the ship—we’ll have to use him in a few 
minutes.” 

“So you don’t like the thought of being chucked 
into the hole, eh, my yellow snake?” drawled Little 
Billy, strolling over to Ichi’s resting place. Despite 
his knowledge that the hunchback was acting, Mar¬ 
tin shuddered at his tones; his voice was vibrant with 
bitter hate. “But it is not what you like this time, 
Ichi. It is what we like, what I like, eh? You see 
this knife; you feel it when I prick your throat—so? 
Well, it is old Sails’ knife, Ichi, poor old Sails’ 
knife. Why not slit your lying throat with Sails’ 
knife, like you slit Sails’ throat—if I like, eh? But 
I don’t like, Ichi. That’s too sweet a finish for you. 
No, when we get ready we are going to cart you 
down to the edge of that hole, and—over the edge 
you gol” 

“Oh, please, please—oh, prease Mr. Brake!” 
chattered Ichi. “You come take him away. You 
not let him do it? Oh, Mr. Blake, a long time I 
your friend; you helpful me I helpful you, I be your 
man. Not the Deep Place, not the— aiee-ee” and 
his voice trailed off in a dolorous howl as some freak 
of the draught caused the voice of the pit to momen¬ 
tarily shriek. 

“All right, Billy, on watch here. Let me talk to 
him now,” said Martin. 

He dragged Ichi closer to the window, so that 
daylight fell upon the man’s face. Then he sat 
down in front of him, and regarded him narrowly. 

Ichi was in a frenzy of mingled hope and fear. 
He gabbled half incoherently his allegiance to his 


DECOY 


319 


captor, his love for him, his willingness to do this, 
that, anything—only, not the Deep Place— prease! 
He was a pitiable object, could Martin have found 
pity for him in his heart. He was no longer the 
suave, dapper Japanese gentleman. His boasted 
gentility was gone with his courage; and supersti¬ 
tious terror had quite overcome his Western skepti¬ 
cism. He was just a yellow coolie, terror-stricken, 
cringing before and begging of his master. 

“Wild Bob has just come up on the poop. He’s 
talking to the mate,” called Little Billy. 

“Good,” said Martin. He unbuckled the strap 
from around Xchi’s ankles, and hoisted the man erect. 

“Now, Ichi, you do what I say, and I promise you 
it won’t be the Deep Place. Indeed, I promise you 
your life, so far as I hold it—though you don’t 
deserve it. But if you don’t do what I say-” 

“Yis—oh, yes, please, I helpful you muchly,” he 
promised, eagerly. 

“Carew is at the taffrail,” said Little Billy. “Lie’s 
hailing the beach—hailing Ichi.” 

Martin had finished looping the strap about the 
chain of the handcuffs. Now he thrust the man 
forward, into the window; he, himself, retaining a 
grasp on the leather, and remaining beyond the win¬ 
dow edge, by the hunchback’s side. 

Captain Carew stood at the taffrail and searched 
the face of the mountain. Presently he cupped his 
hands, and sent a second stentorian hail across the 
water—“Ahoy-y-y! Ahoy, the beach! Ichi!” 

“So he’s a bit worried about his partner,” whis¬ 
pered Little Billy. “That’s good.” . 



320 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


Martin commanded Ichi. “Answer him.” 

Ichi hesitated. But a jerk on the strap opened 
his mouth. He sent a piercing “Aiee-e-c!” out of 
the window. 

Carew looked eagerly for the sender of the hail. 
But it was Asoki, the mate, who located the figure 
framed in the opening. He clutched Carew’s arm, 
and pointed. And Martin noted that not only the 
pirate captain was interested. Charley Bo Yip’s 
head popped out of the galley door; and the guards 
all stared shorewards. 

“Are you all right?” hailed Carew. “Have you 
found the stuff?” The voice came very clearly over 
the water; the cliffs making a sounding board that 
accented, then echoed, every syllable. 

“Tell him,” Martin commanded Ichi, “tell him, 
‘Come ashore!’ Come, sing it out. Remember the 
Deep Place!” 

“Come ashore!” howled Ichi. 

“Anything wrong?” demanded Carew, 

“Tell him, ‘Yes,’ ” commanded Martin. On the 
spur of the moment he added, “Tell him I have 
been lost. That’s it. An accident. And you need 
him. Out with it.” 

“Yes! Accident! Mr. Blake lost! You come 
and helpful, Captain!” Ichi called, obediently. 

“What’s that—the cub lost—gone?” shouted 
Carew. He seemed not overcome by the news. He 
laughed, and slapped Asoki on the back. “D’ye 
want me to help locate the stuff?” he hailed back 
to Ichi. “Shall I bring the girl?” 

“My God!” breathed Little Billy. 


DECOY 


321 


Martin jerked viciously on the strap. “Tell him 
yes, damn you, tell him yes!” he cried. 

“Yes—the girl!” called Ichi. 

Carew waved his arm. “Coming!” he replied. 
“Meet me on the beach!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


TABLES TURNED 

t‘ | 'SHEY waited there at the window for some 
time longer, watching the preparations made 
for Carew’s coming ashore. Carew, himself, 
had disappeared below, but a sailor appeared on the 
main deck, and hauled the dingey alongside. He 
was the cabin guard, thought Martin. Asoki, the 
mate, left the poop and lent a hand at the task, 
and supervised the placing of the oars in the boat, 
and the adjusting of the Jacob's ladder. 

And they in the cave watched not only this task. 
Events were proceeding forward. It was evidently 
very near the noon hour, for Yip was preparing 
to serve the dinner to the crew. Even before Carew 
left the deck, the Chinaman banged a pan, at the 
galley door, announcing his purpose to the world. 
And now, three new figures were visible on the deck, 
coming up from the foc’sle. 

Martin stared closely. The newcomers did not 
appear to carry their arms with them; the sunlight 
gleamed on but three rifles, the one carried by the 
fore-hatch guard, and the two weapons in the pos¬ 
session of the men lounging abaft the house, amid¬ 
ships. All of the Japs, save only the guard at the 
fore hatch, lounged over to the rail and watched 

their compatriots aft prepare the dingey. They 

322 



TABLES TURNED 


323 


were evidently more interested in this work, and in 
the aspect of the beach, than in the meal that Yip 
was now spreading for them on the deck abaft the 
house. 

Presently, Carew was visible again—on the main 
deck, this time, at the rail. And—Martin’s heart 
leaped into his throat—Ruth was with him. Ruth, 
cloaked and bowed, stood submissively by Carew’s 
side. 

Carew noticed his men lounging forward, gaping 
at him. He evidently disliked the sight, or perhaps, 
some word of theirs’ about the girl reached his 
ears—he flung an order to Asoki, and the latter 
chattered angrily at the loafers. They left the rail 
precipitantly, and clustered about the mess kits Yip 
had just finished placing on the deck. The China¬ 
man, Martin noticed, retreated immediately into the 
galley; and, a second later, reappeared on the other 
side of the deck. He peeked around the side of 
the house at the diners; then he strolled forward. 

Carew was already in the dingey, and Ruth was 
being helped to the rail by the Jap mate. The 
sailor was in the dingey, too, seated at oars, ready 
to give way. Martin had the thought: “There is 
now no guard In the cabin, and if Captain Dabney 
really has his sight—” But he did not pursue the 
speculation. He was thinking of Ruth, watching 
her descend the Jacob’s ladder into Carew’s waiting 
arms. He forgot to watch Yip. He forgot every¬ 
thing save Ruth, and the hated hands that fastened 
upon her waist and lifted her into the boat. 

Grim-faced, savage-eyed, Martin stared down at 


324 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


the little boat; watched Carew seat Ruth beside him 
in the sternsheets; watched the sailor bend to the 
oars as Asoki cast off the painter. And Martin’s 
mood was exultant as he watched. Carew was com¬ 
ing! Now he was going to square accounts with the 
renegade beast! Now he was going to wipe the 
smirk from those cruel lips! That sneering mouth 
would never again babble the brute’s unclean love 
into her unwilling ears, by heaven, no! 

It was a gasp from Ichi, and a stuttering exclama¬ 
tion from Little Billy, that brought his mind—and 
eyes—to the ship again. Something was happening 
amid the group of eaters. One of them was rolling 
on the deck, another was staggering about, con¬ 
sternation reigned over the rest, and their cries of 
surprise and fear were audible in the cave. Asoki 
was running toward the scene. 

“The hatch! Yip!” cried Little Billy. 

A blood-curdling whoop rode the air. Yip’s 
whoop. The Chinaman was dancing on the deck, 
away forward by the foc’sle scuttle, brandishing 
something over his head. More than that, Martin 
saw—the fore hatch was open. Other figures ap¬ 
peared by Yip’s side. The gigantic figure of the 
bosun appeared around the forward corner of the 
house, and he was rushing aft. 

He—and his followers—almost reached the after 
end of the house before the rattled Japs spied them. 
Then was pandemonium. One of the armed Japs 
shot point blank at the bosun. He missed the mark 
at which he aimed, though a man behind the bosun 
fell; but the bosun, before his enemy could fire 


TABLES TURNED 


325 


again, leaned over and scooped into his arms the 
figure that had been writhing on the deck, and, half 
straightening, hurled it at the man with the gun. 
The body hurtled true to its mark—both target and 
missile went scooting across the deck, to fetch up 
motionless in the scuppers. Then the bosun had the 
rifle and was swinging it, clubbed, the center of a 
melee 

Carew’s voice, roaring at Asoki, brought Martin’s 
gaze down to the small boat. It had made some 
hundred yards towards shore when the shot was 
fired at the bosun—the first inkling Carew had, it 
seemed, that his conquest of the ship was in jeopardy. 
He was standing up in the boat, trying to get a 
glimpse of the deck of the ship, and calling to 
know what was wrong. The man at the oars was 
backing water, holding the boat motionless; but 
as the sounds of general conflict came to the captain’s 
ears, he evidently gave the sailor instructions, for 
the boat began to swing back to the brig. 

But Carew was not destined to set foot again on 
stolen decks. A new factor suddenly entered the 
struggle. Martin noticed first, with a great gasp 
of astonishment; then Little Billy exclaimed, “The 
captain! Skipper Dabney! See!” and excitedly 
wagged his finger at the figure just emerging into 
the sunlight of the poop deck through the cabin 
hatch. 

Captain Dabney was coatless, barelegged, bare¬ 
headed, all his white hair blowing. But he moved 
with the swiftness of a young man, and his step 
was no blind man’s step. As soon as he reached 


326 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


the deck he spied and snatched up the rifle that 
was leaning against the skylight—it was Asoki’s rifle, 
left behind when that worthy went to supervise 
Carew’s departure—and rushed to the rail. 

Carew shook his fist and roared a curse at the 
wild figure that so suddenly appeared at the poop 
rail. Asoki was climbing the poop ladder, come for 
his rifle or perhaps to take the Captain from behind. 
There was a shot forward (it was Hardy, the Aus¬ 
tralian, with the rifle taken from the hatch guard, 
Martin afterwards learned) and Asoki fell back¬ 
ward, out of sight. Then Captain Dabney drew 
down his bead, and his rifle barked—and Carew’s 
cap flew from his head. 

Carew did a thing that drew a growl of rage 
and fear from two of the watchers in the cave. He 
ducked, seized Ruth and swung her in front of him, 
covering his own body with hers. And in response 
to his orders, the sailor at the oars began to furiously 
pull towards the beach. 

Martin never remembered much about that sec¬ 
ond, headlong passage of the caves, when he and 
Little Billy, and the cowering Ichi, retraced their 
path to the beach. He was in a frenzy of rage and 
fear. The hunchback was weeping and cursing in 
the same breath. Their prisoner howled hysterically 
as they kicked him along the ledge by the chasm edge. 
Martin could never afterwards figure out why they 
troubled with Ichi when time was so precious; he 
had no further use for the Jap that he knew of. 
But they dragged the little wretch all the way to 
the beach. 


TABLES TURNED 


Not quite to the beach. Little Billy, in the lead, 
guided them into another passage, and instead of 
emerging through the Elephant Head, they found 
themselves in the great open-mouthed chamber 
where Billy had hidden before. 

The beach lay revealed before them. Thirty 
yards distant, at the water’s edge, the oarsman was 
beaching the dingey. Carew and Ruth were already 
halfway up the beach; he was literally almost drag¬ 
ging the girl over the sand, for she was struggling 
in his grasp. He was making for the Elephant 
Head. 

“Ichi! Where are you? Lend a hand here!” 
Carew shouted. “You white-livered sneak—send a 
man out here if you are afraid!” 

“Answer him!” Martin urged Ichi. “Tell him, 
This way!’ ” 

Ichi stuttered, and hesitated. He was evidently 
less anxious to face Carew than was Martin. 

Out on board the brig, the battle apparently was 
over, with victory for Martin’s side. For Martin 
saw one of the Cohasset’s boats swinging out in the 
davits, and heard the bosun’s stentorian bellow as he 
encouraged the launching. On the poop still stood 
Captain Dabney, his rifle trained shorewards. Even 
as Martin looked, the rifle cracked, and the sand 
spurted about the feet of the Jap sailor by the 
dingey. 

The closeness of the miss seemed to rattle the 
man, to take his wits and lend wings to his feet. 
He had been landing the gear of the boat; he now 
dropped his task and sped for the caves. He would 


328 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


have been quite safe had he fallen in behind his cap¬ 
tain and unwilling companion, for they would not 
have ventured a shot from the ship with Ruth in 
line of fire. But he atttempted to speed by Carew 
and gain the—as he thought—comparatively safety 
of the caves. 

“Help me here—hey, you—stop!” commanded 
Carew, as the man dashed past. “Damn you then— 
take that!” And he threw down with the pistol he 
was brandishing, and shot the sailor in the back. 
The fellow pithed forward on his knees, and then 
fell face down on the sand. 

In the cavern where the trio lurked, Ichi suddenly 
yelped as Little Billy pressed the point of his knife 
a half inch into the yellow hide. “Call to him,” 
he commanded. 

Ichi screamed it. “This way! This way, Cap¬ 
tain!” 

“Where? Show yourself! Give me a hand, 
here!” roared Carew. 

Martin thrust Ichi half out of the cave, and, 
when Carew glimpsed him, jerked him back again. 
Swearing vilely, Carew changed his course, and 
began to draw Ruth towards the open-mouthed 
cave. 

He had his hands full with the girl. His hand, 
rather, for he held her with one arm, leaving his 
other, his weapon arm, free. She was struggling 
furiously to break free from his grasp, wriggling, 
kicking, clawing, using all of her vigorous strength 
against him. Almost she succeeded. Then he had 
recourse to brute tactics to subdue her. 


TABLES TURNED 


329 


“Curse you, come along!” he exclaimed, and 
struck her heavy blows in the face with the fist that 
held the revolver. She sagged limply in his arm. 

Something seemed to snap in Martin’s mind at 
this sight. Gone was his caution, forgotten his 
plan. With a hoarse, wordless cry, he cleared the 
cave entrance with a bound, and threw himself for¬ 
ward towards his enemy. 

Carew w r as still a score of paces distant from the 
cave mouth. But so startled was he by the sudden 
appearance of the charging, hostile figure, that Mar¬ 
tin had covered half the intervening distance ere 
Wild Bob’s sagging mouth closed. But by then 
Carew had recognized the oncomer, and realized his 
danger. He took snap aim with his weapon, and 
fired point blank at Martin. 

The bullet seared Martin’s cheek. Behind him, 
Little Billy, just emerging from the cave in Martin’s 
wake, stopped short in his tracks, clutched at his 
poor, disfigured breast, and sank slowly to the 
ground. 

Before Carew could shoot again, Ruth reached up 
her hands and clawed his face. Screaming a curse, 
Carew threw her from him and staggered back a 
step. 

But Martin was closed with him now. He had 
Carew’s wrist, wrenching it, and the weapon dropped 
to the sand. He had Carew’s throat in his clutch. 
He was pressing, pressing, forcing the man back. 

It was the very fury of his headlong, unreasoned 
assault that gave Martin initial victory. He was 
not as large as Carew, nor as strong. But at the 


330 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


moment he had the strength of three men in his 
body. He was berserk. He had no craft in his 
fighting; only blind rage and the strength it gave 
him. His hands were at the throat of the most 
hateful thing in the world—the man who had 
harmed loved ones, the man who tried to steal his 
woman. 

Carew’s fists battered at Martin’s unguarded 
face. Martin did not even feel these blows. He 
squeezed and squeezed that cursed neck. Carew 
gave ground. He bent backwards. His glaring 
eyes were popping; his mouth was open. He was 
down. 

And then something happened to Martin. He 
was conscious of pain, of sudden, paralyzing pain 
that pervaded his whole body. The strength left 
his fingers; he felt his entire body giving way, slump¬ 
ing weakly. 

Now he was on his back, and fingers were at his 
throat. Carew’s face loomed above him, red, con¬ 
torted, the lips curled into a fiendish snarl, an insane 
murderous light in his eyes. Martin was choking; 
a tremendous weight was on his chest. In Carew’s 
hand was a knife descending. Above the ringing 
in his ears, Martin heard Carew’s voice saying, “You 
shall not have her!’’ 

A sudden roar filled his ears. The weight on his 
chest jerked suddenly; the knife fell from the up¬ 
raised hand, the fingers loosened on his throat. He 
saw Carew’s eyes blinking rapidly, and an expression 
of stupid surprise succeeded the triumphant ferocity 
in the man’s face. And then Carew rolled off him 


TABLES TURNED 


331 


altogether, and lay quiet on the ground by his side. 

Dazed, Martin raised himself on his elbow. He 
saw the skirt, and then the smoking revolver clutched 
in the little hand, and, his eyes leaping upwards, 
Ruth’s frightened face and wide open, horrified eyes. 
The pain still gripped him, but he tried to get up, 
and he held out his arms to her. 


CHAPTER, XXIII 


CONCLUSION 

“ A YE, it was the knee he give you, lad. ’Ow 
r\ was an innercent babe like you to know about 
foul tricks o’ fighting? But ’twas a close 
shave you ’ad, a blinkin’ close shave, swiggle me stiff, 
it was! If it ’adn’t been for the lass grabbin’ up ’is 
gun and potting the blighter—well, it’s a lucky lad 
you are, Martin, with a double treasure won, 
and but sore muscles to pay.” The bosun shifted his 
quid and spat over the rail into the racing sea. “Aye, 
the lass,” he mumbled. “A lucky lad, that’s wot.” 

“I know I am,” answered Martin, humbly. “Oh, 
so lucky. If only poor Billy had had some of my 
luck.” 

“ ’E was feyed, Martin,” declared the bosun. “I 
knew" from the moment you told me wot Sails as ’ow 
I’d never clasp Little Billy’s ’and again, and ’im alive 
and cheery. Poor Billy! ’E was my mate, my chum, 
and I’d give my share o’ the swag ten times over just 
to ’ear ’im cuss me out again.” 

They took a turn or two on the deck in sorrowful 
silence, Martin limping somewhat painfully, and the 
big man accommodating his stride to the other’s 
progress. The brig was running before the wind, 
over a sun-sparkled, white capped sea; every rag 
she owned was spread, and the breeze snored aloft 

332 


CONCLUSION 


333 


like an organ. The bosun paused at the poop break, 
snorted into his large red handkerchief, and pre¬ 
tended to inspect the drawing of the mainsail. Then, 
his emotion conquered, he resumed the stroll. 

“We left foul weather be'ind us in that black 
Devil’s ’ole,” he commented. “Now it’s fair winds 
and bright skies. Ow, well, swiggle me stiff, wot’s 
done is done and can’t be undone, as Sails would 
’ave said. ’Tis fine weather for you, eh, lad—and 
you standin’ the moonlight watches with the lass 
by your side? Another day o’ this, and we’ll be 
landin’ those five yellow imps we got in the hold 
on their own bloomin’ coast, and then it’s ’urrah for 
’ome and the splicin’ party, eh, lad?” 

Martin smiled happily. 

“I don’t mind landin’ the four ’foremast ’ands, 
and lettin’ them off scott free except for their cuts 
and bumps,” grumbled the bosun. “They didn’t 
’ave no ’and in the plannin’ of it. But to land that 
feller, Ichi—swiggle me stiff, if I ’ad my way, I 
land that blighter in the air, below the tops’l yard¬ 
arm, with a bloomin’ noose around ’is neck! Why, 
’e v/as the ruddy bird wot started the business!” 

“But I promised him his life,” said Martin. “And 
—my God, Bosun, hasn’t there been enough death 
on this ship?” 

“Well, anyway, that feller, Ichi, is lucky ’e wasn’t 
on board when we ’ad the grand fight,” vowed the 
Bosun. “I was looking for ’im; I ’ad ’im marked 
for my meat. Swiggle me, ’e’d ’ave gone over the 
side if I got my ’ands on ’im that mornin’. Aye, and 
Yip was layin’ for ’im, too,” 


334 


FIRE MOUNTAIN 


“How Yip hated them,” mused Martin. 

“Aye, that ’e did,” agreed the bosun. “But ’e 
was a slick one, was Yip. ’Oo but ’im would of 
thought o’ dopin’ their grub? And the ’olesale way 
’e did it—mixin’ a pint bottle o’ cockroach killer 
in with their rice. A white man wouldn’t ’ave been 
able to do that. But it give Yip his chance, when 
they got the bellyache, to skip for’ard and lay out 
the ’atch guard with his cleaver. My blinkin’ heye, 
when I come up after ’e opened the ’atch, there ’e 
was with that Jap’s neck across the ’atch combin’, 
and ’e was ’ackin’ away and yellin’ like a wild 
Indian. Aye, and ’e’d ’ave ’acked some more o’ 
them, if that shot that was aimed at me ’adn’t took 
’im through the ’ead. Swiggle me, Marty, I 
wouldn’t ’ave been able to eat ’is grub after that.” 

“Nor I,” agreed Martin. “Well, Bos, I think 
I’ll take a turn below.” 

“Aye, I ’eard the lass’ voice through the sky¬ 
light, a moment since,” observed the bosun, slyly. 
“Swiggle me—get along with ye, lad!” He gave 
Martin a gentle nudge with his giant’s elbow that 
nearly knocked him down the hatch. 

She was in the cabin, when Martin descended 
the stairs. She welcomed him with a glance that 
more than repaid him for the bosun’s thump; aye, 
that repaid him (he would have sworn) for all the 
pain and misery he had ever suffered. 

She was standing by her grandfather’s side, and 
the latter was seated at the cabin table, a mess 
of papers before him. 

“Well, my boy, I’ve just been figuring out our 


CONCLUSION 


335 


fortune,” he hailed Martin. “It’s plenty; more than 
plenty. Something not much short of a million, as 
prices for ambergris were quoted when we left San 
Francisco. Not such a bad little treasure, eh?” 

“We have paid a stiff price for it,” answered 
Martin, soberly. 

A shade crossed the captain’s serene old face. 
“That we have,” he assented. “Too great a price. 
Gladly I’d give it all, and more, to get my men back 
again. To have—Little Billy—” He heaved a 
deep sigh, and smiled again. “Ah, and that is not 
all,” he said, patting Ruth’s hand, which lay on his 
shoulder, “for it seems I must lose my girl, as well. 
Even the thought of walking in on that doctor who 
told me I would never see again hardly reconciles me 
to the thought of losing my girl.” 

“What nonsense!” exclaimed Ruth. “Why, grand- 
daddy, you don’t lose me. You gain—a son.” 

Captain Dabney’s bright, clear eyes searched 
Martin’s face, and when he replied to Ruth it was 
in a contented, satisfied voice: 

“Yes, I do,” he said. “And a worthy son, girl, 
tried and tempered by Fire Mountain.” 


THE END 












